


Nursing on Poison

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Mental Health Issues, Severe Drug Addiction, Siblings trying not to be dysfunctional, Thats hard for the Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Narrowly avoiding the apocalypse, Five throws the Hargreeves siblings five years into the past. Five crashes in Vanya's apartment, Luther's getting ready to go to the moon, Allison has a steady marriage and her daughter again, Diego's still in the police academy with a thing for another detective, and Klaus - well, who really knows where Klaus is.Or, in which they return a few years into the past at the end of season one with the opportunity to fix some mistakes in their personal lives, come together to help Vanya learn about her powers and to say a big 'fuck you' to Reginald. For Klaus? Well, getting sober once was hard enough.





	1. Deaf and Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short, test-y, introductory chapter to set the scene for them all.

When Five opens his eyes, it takes him a moment to process everything.

A few seconds ago he was in the Icarus theatre, his body screaming as he tried to do something, anything, to save him and his siblings from imminent death. Now? Oh, his body's still screaming; muscles aching and limbs shaking, a gasp tearing from his lips as he props himself up on his elbows. His head feels like someone's trying to recreate that scene from _The Shining_ , only his skull is the door that Jack was trying to break through with an axe. Now, he was certainly not in the Icarus theatre, but on the rough floor of a small apartment. _Vanya's_ apartment, to be exact. Speaking of Vanya -

Where is everybody? 

Despite the whole-body ache, Five uses the couch a few inches from him to haul himself up on his unsteady legs. He's still in his thirteen year old body, still in his academy uniform. Part of Number Five loathes that; he's never going to end up looking like the age he is, is he? Perhaps it'll be useful when he's mentally eighty and still looking extremely young, but for now looking like a child is not fun. 

"Vanya?" He calls, and his voice is hoarse. He thumps a hand down onto his chest and clears his throat. The living room's empty, dim street lights filtering in through the curtains. It looks more plain than when he had first came here. 

There's a scuffle coming from her bedroom door, and Five hurries over to it, shoving the door open. Vanya's in her bed, in pyjamas, pale and wide eyed. "Five?" She splutters, her fingers twisting her bedsheets. "What... what happened?" She asked, blinking in confusion and looking around her bedroom. Her eyebrows draw together.

"You're awake," uttered Number Five. "Good. Just... take a moment. Everything's alright." Five pressed his lips together. "How much do you remember? How do you feel?"

"Sick," says his sister, eyes downcast. "I... I remember most of it, Five. I - I almost killed you all." Her voice trembles, her fingers shaking over her bedsheets. Her lips move around letters and words, silent save for ragged breathing, and Five doesn't know what to do. Moments ago, his sister was glowing like a star, unconscious after almost destroying the world. Had it not been for Five, she would have been completely successful. 

"That's alright," says Five, taking a few steps forwards. "Just rest easy. You didn't hurt any of us, Vanya. We're all fine and safe." It might not be true. He has no idea when they are or where everyone else is. Assuming from Vanya's current state, he'd say he's gone back perhaps a few weeks at the very least. He quickly comes to the conclusion that their siblings must have returned to the same place they were at this time in the past, slotting perfectly into the new timeline. The fact that he and Vanya seem to remember everything leading up to the Icarus theatre is promising, too; it would have been hellish if they had gone back a few months only for him to have to re-avert the apocalypse once more. 

"Where is everyone?" Vanya asks. She swings her legs over the edge of her bed, bare feet touching down on the floor but she doesn't stand. Her shoulders are tense and eyes watery. Five sighs.

"I don't know," he admits. "We need to check the date first. I managed to send us back in time, but I don't know when. I've already come to the conclusion that our siblings must be wherever they were during the original time line." He takes a moment to really look at Vanya, then, eying her face and her appearance. Her hair is longer still, not been cut yet, and she looks more youthful. Visibly so. "I'm guessing it might be a couple of years. You look younger."

Vanya wraps her arms around herself and nods, clinging to his words and his confidence desperately. He isn't entirely sure how he's so composed, either, but then he simply believes he never wasn't. He wasn't scared of Vanya as he entered the theatre, and he isn't now. 

"We should figure out the date and find everyone," he tells her, and Vanya's eyes flick up to him.

"I... you need to find them. I can't - I can't." She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, pressing her fingertips into her arms. "It's not - I'm not safe. You need to leave."

Five closes the remaining distance, toying with his bottom lip. Emotions, he thinks, aren't any of the Hargreeves siblings forte, least of all his. Nonetheless, he tries to think of a time years gone by when he and Vanya were the closest they had ever been able to be. He sets a hand on her knee, crouching to try and catch her gaze.

"Don't be stupid, Vanya. You're not a... a threat. Right now, we need you. We need each other as a family more than ever at the moment, and you're part of that family. We're all dangerous." He waves a hand in a vague gesture. "It's part of being a Hargreeves. Look forwards to it, but for now, just look at me. We're going to figure out when we are, we're going to find everyone else, and together, we're going to figure out where to go. Assuming we're a while in the past, Dad'll be alive, so we'll have to skirt around that..." He repeats his vague gesture, waving his hand once more. "The date. Come on, let's go figure it out, yeah?"

Vanya takes a heavy breath, blowing it out slowly, and then she nods. Five stands up and so does she, and together they make their way back into the living room. Her eyes roam her apartment and it's old state, and then she gestures for Five to follow as she goes to her kitchen and points at her calendar. 

"2014," she murmurs, "February."

Five presses his lips together. Five years. He hadn't necessarily tried to get a certain date in mind, simply trying to throw them back to a time in which the moon was still whole. Unfortunately, it confirms that Reginald is still alive. Despite having more important things - much more important things - to think about, Five can't help but sigh at the thought.

"Okay... okay. Do you know where everyone is at this moment?" He asks, trusting Vanya for this one. His sister heaves a sigh, eyes roaming thoughtfully.

"I... God... well, Luther won't be on the moon yet, so he must be at the academy. Ben... he died years ago. Allison, uh... she'll be with Patrick and Claire still. If she's filming, she might not be in the country. Diego, he must still be in the police academy, I guess? Klaus..." they both share a look. "No idea." 

"Alright," Five says, running a hand down his face. He debated going for Luther first considering he was almost definitely in his bedroom in the academy, but he rethought that. Perhaps he might not be the best person to turn to first. "You have a phone, right?" Vanya nods. "Good. We'll go find Diego and phone up Allison, then we'll go to Luther, then somehow find Klaus."

Vanya nods her head once more, seeming to mentally brace herself, and goes to her room to get changed.

 

 

 

 

Diego jerked forwards, gasping for air. Something weighs his left arm down and a soft duvet slides down his bare stomach. Wildly, he looks around for his siblings, ready to try and figure out where - or when - Five sent them, but the only thing he sees is Eudora's bedroom. His eyebrows draw together and then, slowly, hesitantly, he looks down to his side. Eudora, very much alive, is curled up on his side, warm and breathing and _alive_. Her alarm clock tells him it's seven in the evening. His eyes fall back onto Eudora, slowly beginning to wake thanks to his movement, and he feels his chest tighten.

So… had Five managed to send them back into the past? He must have done. He'd sent them back long enough that Eudora was alive, that Eudora was here, in his arms. A heavy breath leaves his lips and he's almost hesitant when he reaches out to run a hand down her arm. He feels a lump grow like a mountain in his throat and he can't help but pull her closer, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes and he sees her, laying on a dirty motel floor, growing cold. He doesn't know when he is, but he decides he doesn't very much care.

Eudora blinks her eyes open slowly, eyelashes fluttering against her skin, and a grin tugs her lips upwards.

"How's this for a nice day off?" She hums. Diego lets her voice wash over him, warm and affectionate, continuing to run his hand up and down her arm.

He thinks it was only that day in the motel that he came to truly understand his feelings for her, even after so long of not being this close with her. But Five's given him a second chance. She's happy and content being in his arms, and he has a chance to not ruin their relationship with the petty arguments they had had all that time ago.

He lifts himself up to look at her and smiles genuinely. "Perfect," he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She smiles at him before turning around to look at the alarm clock. Then she bolts up, wriggling out of his grip and throwing the duvet off her. "Shit," she hisses, hurrying to her wardrobe. Diego slumps into the bed, raising an eyebrow. "The dinner!" She exclaims. "It's still in the oven. Get your ass up."

Even if they're late as all hell, Diego can't bring himself to care. His heart swells with hope at this second chance he's unknowingly been given, and he makes a mental note to find his siblings as soon as possible. For now, though, he crawls out of Eudora's bed and finds his clothes.

 

 

 

 

One minute she's staring imminent death in the face, and the next moment she feels like she's being pulled apart, stretched thin. Then she blinks and she's standing in her old house's kitchen, brewing coffee while Claire sits on Patrick's hip, stubby fingers tugging his shirt. Allison blinks, mouth falling open as she looks around, startled, and her eyes settle on Patrick. He walks over to her, a smile on his lips. "You want to see mommy?" He asks in a playful tone, tucking his chin down against his chest to look at Claire, a wide smile on her lips. Patrick looks up from their daughter, suddenly two years old-ish, and to Allison. "She's up from her nap. You alright? You look a little pale."

Allison closes her mouth, stumbling over her words. "Yeah," she finally gets out, and she can speak. Her neck isn't sore and when she reaches a hand up to her throat, there's no bandage or wound there, no sign it had ever been there. "Yeah, I'm fine. I... I got a call from home," she lies, and Patrick raises his eyebrows.

"Everything alright?"

Five must have sent them back in time. Obviously, she thinks, because she's standing in her old home, with Patrick cradling Claire and reaching out to kiss Allison's cheek. He must have sent them further back than anticipated. She needs to make sure Vanya's alright, she thinks urgently, but Patrick and Claire steal her breath away and when her daughter reaches out, her eyes sting and she eagerly takes her from Patrick to cradle her against her chest.

"Uh, yeah... no. Kind of. My sister... I need to see her," she says distractedly, thumb brushing over Claire's cheek. Her daughter's beautiful, she thinks. Gorgeous, and she's missed her so much it hurts. She closes her eyes, pressing a kiss to Claire's head.

"Is it serious?" Patrick asks, hand on her back, and she's pulled from her thoughts. She blinks her eyes open reluctantly to look up at him, and she clears her throat, nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is, I... I need to see her ASAP. She got hurt."

Patrick frowns sympathetically, squeezing her shoulder. "You're lucky you just finished filming, huh?" He jokes light heartedly. "Take a moment to gather yourself, alright? If you need to go, you can go. Family's important."

Allison looks down at Claire in her arms and swallows. "Yeah," she agrees. "It really is."

 

 

 

 

The academy ceiling stares down at him, and Luther's eyebrows pull together in confusion. Slowly, he sits up, bed creaking as he does so. He's back in his bedroom, space models on his shelves staring back at him. The clock on his bedside table tells him it's seven in the evening and someone knocks at his door.

"Five?" He calls, and the door creaks open. Grace peers in, vibrant red lips framing perfectly white teeth.

"Good morning, dear," she greets, ignoring his comment about Five. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes. It's important to eat up, now, you've got your big mission coming up."

Luther swings his legs over his bed, standing up and narrowly avoiding the model plane hnging from his ceiling. "Uh, what mission is it again?" He asks. "Are the others around?"

Grace blinks, smile unwavering. "Silly, you're going to the moon. I understand it's still a while away, dear, but your father is adamant you keep up your training so you are ready for it. You know your siblings left a while ago, dear."

Luther blinks, processing the information. The moon. He's not been there yet, apparently. 

Five, he thinks. He remembers the blue light devouring him completely, remembers feeling as if he could feel each and every atom in his body vibrating with energy, before everything went dark. Five was successful, then, sending them back in time to avoid the destruction of the world. He lets out a breath, slumping against the wall. He doesn't know where everyone else is, then, though he supposes if they've just been put right back into this time line then they, too, should be around, doing whatever it was they had done at this time originally. He needs to find them. He needs to find Five and Vanya, most specifically. He had been holding her as they... travelled (was that the right term? He wasn't sure) and she was gone now. If she was still a ticking time bomb of raw power, Five's efforts might have been in vain. He needs to find them all now. But...

"Dad?" 

Grace blinks. "Your father is in his study. It's best not to disturb him just yet; he's still sorting things for your travel," she tells him, and Luther nods. Right. 

"I'll come down for dinner," he tells her, and she nods, retreating and closing the door to let him get changed out of the clothes he's in. He knows what he needs to do, but now how to do it. He decides to come up with that plan over dinner and, if permitted to, Luther would leave the academy and try and find his siblings.

 

 

 

 

He's rolling _so_ hard. Wave after wave after wave of intense euphoria crashes into him so suddenly all Klaus can do is let his knees collapse and his eyes roll back into his head. An arm catches him around his waist, keeping him from hitting the floor, and a man chuckles, low and deep, loud against muffled music in another room. It's muffled and sounds like it's being played under water, but it's still loud enough that the bass shakes the floor beneath him, makes the walls tremble and pulse around him like it has its own heart beat. Something hits the back of his knees and Klaus realises he's tumbling onto a bed, a pair of lips sucking along his neck, hands running up and down his body. 

"Heard you were a party animal," the stranger drawls, "a damn pretty one." Breath like fire on Klaus' ear, and Klaus doesn't know what to do. He feels like he's just been thrown into a freezing lake with no warning, except the lake is a mix of alcohol and drugs and they're all at their peak, and he doesn't know what's happening. His mind's too muddled to tell him where he is, when he is, or what just happened. He knows, however, that he was sober. Something about a theatre... Vanya. Time travel.

The stranger's face swims into his view, blurry and morphing, and he latches onto Klaus' lips. His fingers curl in his hair for a moment and then run down his face, disappear for a moment, and then come back, two fingers sliding past his lips and along his tongue, depositing a perfectly circular pill in his mouth. Out of reflex Klaus swallows, almost choking to get it down, and the man feels like fire above him, all around him, and Klaus has no idea what's going on. He falls into the mind-melting high, back arching away from the fire beneath him and into the fire above him. The urgency that clawed at his bones moments ago disappears within a split second, and he has no idea why he was so worried in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more self-indulgent angst, am I? You bet


	2. Teeth and Lungs Lined With the Scum of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Vanya's internal struggle is written all over her face when she emerges from the bedroom, dressed appropriately to go searching for their siblings. She looks like she's terrified of herself - maybe she is - and like she expects Five to grab her and chuck her in some cell, or something. She rings her hands nervously.

"Maybe... maybe I should take my medicine," she says, lingering in her kitchen. "Just in case, Five."

Curios, Five raises an eyebrow. "When do you usually take them?"

Vanya's eyes narrow thoughtfully. "In the morning."

"Then you've probably already taken them."

"What?"

Five gestures to the calendar. "You've probably already taken them," he states. "That's also probably why you're not still unconscious. That's good to know."

"What do you mean?"

Five makes a vague gesture with his hands. "It's the same case as me. Your conscious is still thirty, but your body is twenty-five. There's no effects of what happened from twenty-nineteen, but you've jumped right into this time line... this version of you on this time line. Think of it like having your consciousness swapped to your twenty-fourteen body and it being like waking up. You probably took your pills today, like you would any day, and your body's the same. Anything we did on this day in twenty-fourteen is where we've continued, as exact as the effects of your medicine on your body and powers." Five shrugs. "We might need to wean you off them... we'll figure that out later." 

He makes his way over to her door, knowing without needing to try that his powers are too worn out and out of his reach to be used at the moment. It'd be a few days before he managed to fully use his powers again, he suspects, which is a shame. It makes finding their siblings a possibly much longer process than necessary. In the dim corridor of the block of flats, Five watches Vanya's shaky hands lock her apartment door. She hurries to his side, pulling out her cheap phone from her jacket pocket, and she stares at the screen and her short list of contacts. With a sigh, Five holds out his hand.

"I'll talk to her," he offers bluntly, tapping his foot. He needs to calm down, he thinks. When he turns his head too fast the room tilts and his muscles ache. They're safe, he tells himself. A miracle happened and he landed with Vanya, and he knows the others will be safe, too. Well, he thinks, possibly not Klaus, but that's a problem for later, for once they've actually found one another.

Vanya gratefully hands over her phone and Number Five doesn't waste a second dialling Allison's number. They must have stayed in contact for a while after leaving the academy, which he thinks is nice. Up until Vanya wrote that book, anyway. She probably didn't talk to any of them at all after that. 

While it rings away, Five says: "let's go to the police department. We'll find Diego or wherever he's staying there."

Vanya nods, happy to have a solid plan in mind, and follows him out onto the streets, silent and tense.

Finally, when he suspects that Allison might not pick up her phone, it answers.

"Vanya?" 

He's oddly relieved to hear his sister's voice, strong and unhindered by the wounds she'd received. 

"It's Five. Vanya's with me," he replies, eyes flicking to her. "Where are you?" 

"I'm - I'm at home, Five. What happened?"

Five sighs. "I sent us back to twenty-fourteen. I'm assuming everyone's landed wherever they were during the original timeline. Vanya and I are on our way to find Diego, and then we'll go find Luther. We know he'll be at the academy."

"Alright." Allison lets out a relieved sigh, shuffling. On the other end of the line, Five can hear a baby giggling. "I'll come to the academy. It'll take me an hour or so, but I'll be there." There's a pause. "What about Klaus?"

Five presses his lips together. Maybe it's the way she asked about him, but the question makes Five's stomach twist. What about him? He wants to snort and dismiss their junkie brother, say that he'll come around eventually, but he can't. Klaus had been sober the few days leading up to the apocalypse; Klaus had manifested Ben in that Icarus theatre. He can't dismiss Klaus like that even if he wanted to. "It's twenty-fourteen," he simply says, "what kind of stuff was Klaus doing then? On a Saturday night, no less?"

Allison doesn't say anything and Five sighs. "We'll find him, but we know where Diego and Luther will be right now. Remember, though; dad's alive, now. We can't just saunter into the academy without dealing with him."

Allison waves him off. "I'll be there in an hour. You'll have found everyone by then."

Five thinks she's wrong. "Yeah," he says anyway, "I will. Hurry up."

He hangs the phone up and hands it off to Vanya. "Allison'll be down in an hour or so. The police department's that way."

 

 

 

 

Apparently, they had been making ribs. Eudora hurries to take them out of the oven before they can get _too_ burnt, and Diego hurries to open the kitchen windows and wave away the smoke and steam before the fire alarm has a chance to kick off. The entire room smells like barbecue sauce now and Diego still thinks he might be dreaming when Eudora tells him to 'get himself together and get the fucking plates'. He does so hurriedly, helping her deposit the ribs onto each plate while brewing some coffee.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" She asks, half-jokingly. Diego raises an eyebrow.

"Can't I just be happy?" He replies, pouring them both coffee. Eudora snorts.

"You're usually just... brooding," she jokes, and Diego throws her a mock-glare. 

"If you say that, I'll have to go and brood." He sets her coffee down in front of her, done just the way she likes it, and then he leans back against the counter, watching his own coffee swirl in the mug in his hands.

He needs to find his siblings. He knows he does, but he just... he wants this for a little while longer. Even if he's dead and this is simply Heaven. 

Eudora alternates between the food and her coffee, one leg crossed over the other as she sits at the small round table in her kitchen. She nudges the other seat with her two, nodding her head to it, and Diego slides into it and begins to help himself to the food. The television in the living room drones on about nothing in particular and it's a nice evening; sky clear, a light breeze rusting the trees outside. Eudora had lit a candle and it sends shadows dancing around the kitchen. 

The nice atmosphere is shattered by the house phone ringing. Eudora groans. "If that's Bernard trying to get us to go in on our day off," she grumbles, and Diego watches her trudge to get her phone and pick it up.

"Hello?"

She toys with the hem of her - _Diego's_ \- shirt absentmindedly, back tracking to the kitchen to lean against the counter as she listens to whoever's on the other side of the phone. Diego raises his eyebrows questioningly at her. She moves the phone away from her mouth.

"Two people are looking for you," she says, "up at the police department. A kid and a woman." 

Five and Vanya. Diego sits up a little, nodding his head. His first urge is to tell her to tell them to go away. He doesn't want to be disturbed; not yet. He wants just a little longer. Begrudgingly, he says: "It'll be important." The chair scrapes along the kitchen tiles as he stands up. "I need to talk to them, I'm sorry."

Eudora looks curious at that but nods. "Yeah, he's here. I'll put him on." She holds the phone out and he takes it, listening to the phone get swapped around on the other side.

"Diego?" Says Vanya, hesitant. He can't respond, however, as the phone shuffles to someone else quickly.

"Diego?" Repeats Five, and Diego sighs.

"Yeah, I'm here. What's going on."

"It worked."

Diego snorts. "Yeah, I see that. When?"

"You've not checked?"

"I've been... busy."

Five scoffs. "Too busy to think 'gee, I just narrowly escaped certain death, time to have dinner'? It's twenty-fourteen. I'm with Vanya at the police department, where are you?"

"I'm... I'll come down." He can virtually hear Five roll his eyes.

"Good. Come down to the academy. Allison's on her way down, but Luther's still at the academy."

"Five," he quietens his voice slightly. "What's happening?"

Five sighs. "You've all been slotted back into the timeline where you originally were. Allison's at her house with Claire and Patrick, you've not yet been kicked out of the police academy, Luther's at the academy. We're going to him next, so meet us there, Diego. We need to talk all of this out."

Diego nods his head, eyes flicking to Eudora. She's alive, and as far as he's concerned, not about to die any day soon. She's fine. "Okay. I'll be there." He goes to hang up the phone before hesitating. "Where's Klaus?" He asks, eyebrows drawing together. Five doesn't reply instantly. 

"We'll find him. There's bound to be a party on nearby."

Diego feels his stomach curl with dread. If they'd been dropped right into twenty-fourteen, it's a no brainer that Klaus has been dropped right back into some rave or drug den. He'd been sober, too, but Diego tells himself that he still is. He wouldn't willingly go seek out drugs after what just happened. 

_Unless he just had, and he's just been dropped right in the middle of taking a shit ton of stuff._

Diego brushes the thoughts off. "Yeah, probably. Give me... give me ten minutes."

He hangs up, returning the phone to Eudora who looks at him curiously. Diego scrubs his hands down his face. "Uh... family stuff. I really need to go see them, Eudora." 

She waves him off. "I get it," she says, sipping her coffee. "Do what you have to do. I'll be here." 

Diego smiles at her, reaching out to press a chaste kiss to her cheek before hurrying for the door.

"Diego?" He staggers. "You need shoes."

 

 

 

He finds Five and Vanya in that alleyway beside the academy, lingering under the fire escape they'd used plenty of times to escape before. He's relieved to see them both, alive and breathing, even if Vanya looks like she's one wrong word away from breaking down. She's hesitant to even make eye contact with her, and Diego nods to her in greeting.

"He in there?" He asks, eyes flicking to the academy doors. They're just at the entrance of the alley, just out of view of anyone that might leave, but able to watch the doors. Five nods.

"Probably. He was due to go to the moon, wasn't he? He'll be in there." 

Diego nods, then turns to Vanya. He's faintly surprised that Five managed to get her out of her house. "How are you?" He asks hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," she blurts. "I - I didn't mean to, Diego, I'm sorry."

Diego glances away and shakes his head. "We know you didn't. It's fine, Vanya. You didn't hurt us and... we're in this together, yeah? We can help you this time around."

Vanya holds back any more self-depreciating comments, fisting her hands in her sleeves and nodding sceptically. Before any of them can say anything else, Five jumps up from where he'd been leaning against the wall. He looks pale and tired, dark circles framing his eyes, and Diego can only imagine how tired he must feel from exhausting his powers like he had.

"Luther," he hisses, dashing out of the alley. Diego shares a startled look with Vanya before hurrying after Five, who's hurrying after Luther. 

Luther's standing on the street, just having left the academy - and isn't that a funny thought? - with his signature trench coat unsuccessfully trying to hide his huge frame. He turns to see his three siblings rushing him, eyebrows raised in shock. Five grabs his jacket sleeve, pulling him back towards the alleyway before many people can see them.

"Five?" He blinks a few times, eyes falling over each of them. "Good to see everyone's alright, but... what happened? It's twenty-fourteen. Where's Allison and Klaus?"

Five holds up a hand. "One question at a time, Luther. Glad to see you paid attention to the time." He throws a pointed look at Diego, who holds his hands up in defence. "It worked, is what happened. I sent us all back to a safe time. Allison's on her way - she should be ten minutes. We're... finding Klaus. Dad still up there?"

Luther processes the information before swallowing and nodding. "Yeah. He's alive again. I've not seen him, though; I'm supposed to go to the moon. He's working on that."

Five nods. "Well, at least we've not fucked with the timeline too bad," he mutters. He steadies himself against the alley wall and Luther reaches out.

"Are you okay?" He asks, and Five waves his free hand.

"Time travelling... took it out of me. We have important things to do."

"You look like shit," says Diego, very helpfully. Five glares coldly at him, flipping him off. Diego shrugs. Before he can tell him to sit down, however, it seems that he's truly exhausted himself as his eyes flutter and his knees buckle. Luther hurries forwards to catch him and slowly lower him down, leaning him against the wall. Diego glances at Luther and snorts.

"Isn't this familiar?" He jokes, and Luther shoots him a look that says ' _not right now_ ', but his lips tilt upwards at the memory of the two of them carrying Five, drunk and knocked out, to Diego's boiler room. He sighs, glancing around the place. It's dark, getting a bit colder, and they can't even go into the academy because none of them are willing to deal with Reginald. Diego leans against the wall next to Vanya, as if to remind her that they're here but, hopefully, in a supportive way. 

"Guess we just have to wait for Allison, then," he mutters, loosely folding his arms across his chest and looking out of the alleyway. 

 

 

 

 

When he wakes up, he's in such pain that he simply wants to cry. The crash from the surely horrendous amount of drugs he's taken is disgustingly severe, making his stomach flip and churn, his muscles cramp, his heart beat like he's just been resuscitated from an overdose. He shakes like a massage chair on some unknown bed, wrapping his arms around his aching torso. He feels like the drug equivalent of not having eaten for a year; painfully empty, desperate for something - anything. It takes him several long, agonising moments before he can peel his eyes open. 

The room's dark, light filtering in from the street lights outside the windows and from underneath the door, but he can still see that he's in a bedroom. There's a man behind him in the bed, naked and eyes glossy, high as a kite. There's a woman, half naked on the floor, her shirt not even in the room, unconscious. And then there's Ben, crouching by his side, lips moving silently. He looks so concerned it's painful. Whatever he's saying, though, Klaus can't hear yet, so he turns his gaze elsewhere while he tries to make his shaking limbs cooperate with him. His clothes are strewn about the floor and when he stands up to go for his leather pants, he passes out almost immediately; knees disappearing with the slightest effort, body crashing to the ground. 

It might have only been a few seconds once he opens his eyes for the second time, but he feels none better; worse, possibly. He swallows against bile in his mouth and takes an intermediate amount of time to try and not pass out or throw up again, and then it takes him closer to half an hour to pull his clothes on, his head spinning, muscles weak. He can hear muffled music, the party in the house still raging on. 

"Klaus?" Ben calls, waving a hand in front of his face. A loud thump comes from the corridor, followed by laughs, and Klaus still has no idea about what's going on. Hadn't he been elsewhere? A theatre? Yes. He had, and he can remember it clearly. Vanya had been about to end the world. Five had been trying to send them back in time. Or had that all been a drug induced hallucination?

"Ben," he croaks, falling back onto the edge of the bed behind him. "What's going on?" 

Hadn't he been sober? He had been trying to get sober for Dave. Dave. His hands fly to his neck and, somehow, the dog tags are still there. He clutches them like an anchor, dog tags clanking together at the intensity of which his hands shake. 

"It worked," says Ben, crouching in front of him. "The Icarus theatre, Klaus? Remember that? Five must have sent us back. You need to get out and find everyone, Klaus."

Klaus looks around the dark room he's in. He can virtually feel his mind aching and when he stands again, steps towards the door, he sways precariously. The man's clothes are around the floor as well, and instinct drives Klaus to search the mans pants, hands dipping into each pocket.

"What are you doing, Klaus?" Ben asks, voice low and warning. Klaus pulls the mans wallet out, shaking fingers opening it, and he hesitates. But his body simply begs for more, a mind devouring survival instinct to let his mind melt or else this pain might simply kill him, and he takes a wad of the mans cash from his wallet. He finds a plastic baggie in his other pocket and almost sobs when he finds it's empty. He throws the clothes aside and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, keening low in his throat, but Ben verbally urges him to his feet and out of the room.

The music's loud in the corridor and Klaus presses his hands into his ears, teeth grinding together furiously, and he has to shove his way through couples making out against walls, drunk girls lazing on the staircase and men dancing with red solo cups in their hands. Hands brush over Klaus, running along his stomach and his shoulders and his back, and someone tries to pull him back inside from behind, lips ghosting over his shoulders. "Want some fun, baby?" They purr, fingertips dipping below the waist band of his pants, and Klaus closes his eyes against the flashing disco lights.

"Ben," he groans, as if his brother can even do anything, and the person laughs.

"I can be whoever you want, baby."

Klaus shakes his head, forcing their hands away from him and he rushes away from the strong smell of booze and weed. Someone tries to shove a cup into Klaus' hands and Klaus immediately drops it, letting its contents splash across the floor, and he hurries to get outside and take a deep breath of fresh air.

"You're doing great, Klaus. You're doing great. Let's keep going - you took that money, yeah? If we find a payphone, you can phone Allison, or Vanya, or Diego," Ben says, and Klaus crouches, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He tries to take in steady breaths, trying to gather himself. He has no idea how he got here, or how many drugs he's taken, or of what. 

"I was sober," he moans, though he wonders if it should be a question. What if everything really had been nothing more than a drug induced hallucination? But Dave's dog tags were as real as ever, heavy around his neck. 

"It's not your fault." Ben crouches on the grass next to him, trying to catch his gaze. "I saw it, Klaus. You were high before you actually took anything. Time travel, huh?" He tries to make a joke, but Klaus doesn't think he's ever felt so physically beaten before. He's still high, everything moving and bright and distorted, drugs clashing in his mind to make those effects linger, but any possible euphoria was long gone, replaced with the intense crash of each drug in his system. 

Klaus wishes more than ever that he could physically manifest Ben now, if only for a reassuring touch on his back as he smudges his mascara around his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. 

"Phone one of them, Klaus," insists Ben. "Down the street, there'll be a payphone nearby. You're okay, Klaus."

Klaus holds Dave's dog tags and tries to tell himself he's not crazy. He hauls himself to his feet, wrapping his arms around his burning torso, and eagerly tries to stagger away from the pounding party behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted early because I won’t be in to post it at night so enjoy!  
> If you liked it, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; I appreciate it all!  
> You can reach me on Tumblr @vereranklaus


	3. Open Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

"Vanya's apartment. It's the only place we can go."

Diego glances at Vanya, raising an eyebrow to see if she disagrees, but she simply nods. 

"I haven't got... beds for everyone," she utters, and Diego waves a hand. 

"Doesn't matter. Can we walk?"

She thinks for a moment before nodding. "It'll take a while," she says, "but we can."

With a grunt, Luther slides one arm under Five's knees, the other along his back, and pulls him up into his arms. With the plan in mind, they leave the alleyway, Vanya leading the way with Allison by her side. She was quiet and fidgety, jumpy and hesitant, and Diego just wants everyone to act like a functional family once they sit down. He's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that they've been sent so far back into the past, that Eudora's alive. Allison, too, seems very happy, and Diego thinks she must be ecstatic to have her daughter back and not be in the midst of a divorce.

"We still need to find Klaus," Diego comments, looking over the rest of his siblings. "We don't know where he'll be at the moment."

Allison looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "You haven't found him yet?" She asks, and Diego presses his lips together and shakes his head. Allison glances away thoughtfully. "Do you think he'll be okay?" She asks. Diego doesn't say anything for a moment. 

"He will be," he says confidently, bobbing his head in a nod. They'll head to Vanya's apartment and once everything's settled, and unless Klaus has phoned them or made his way there, Diego would go search for him.

As they approach Vanya's apartment, Five sits up, groaning and rubbing his eyes. 

"Why are you carrying me?" He asks, trying to shove his way out of Luther's grip. Luther raises an eyebrow.

"You passed out, Five. I don't think you should be getting up just yet." 

Five rolls his eyes. "I'm fine. I don't need to be carried like a child," he growls, but he stops struggling as much and lets Luther carry him up to Vanya's apartment and deposit him on the couch. He groans, and Diego doesn't doubt he's probably exhausted and aching all over. He's still pale, eyes ringed with dark circles, moving stiffly. 

"Now that we're all here," he says, fingers scratching his jaw, "there's some things we need to discuss."

Diego, leaning against the wall, holds up a hand. "We're not all here," he states, waving a hand around the room. "Klaus isn't here."

Five stares at him, pressing his lips together and thinking. "There's more important things than Klaus getting high, Diego."

Diego clenches his jaw, eyebrows raising. "Klaus is sober, Five," he states. "Or did you just forget about that whole thing with Ben in the theatre?" He knows that Five cares deep down, and that he's stressed and tired, but he's still surprised that anyone could attempt to brush him off after the theatre. Especially now, when he thinks they should be trying to help one another after the events of the past few days.

"We need to find him," agrees Allison, eyes roaming from Diego to Five. "We need everyone here, Five, including him and Ben."

Five sighs, leaning back in the chair and glancing away. "I don't know where he'll be."

Diego shrugs. "We'll find him," he simply says. "We can look around -"

He's cut off by a phone ringing, and he almost jumps. It's his old phone that he had to buy when he joined the police academy, and he's surprised to find it in his pocket, turned on and charged. It's not Eudora's number phoning, nor is it the police department, so his eyebrows draw together and he answers it, holding it up to his ear.

"Who is this?" He asks. The person on the other end of the line doesn't reply immediately and Diego shifts impatiently on the spot. "I'm gonna hang up if you don't say anything."

The person inhales shakily. "Diego?" Breathes Klaus, and Diego's eyes widen slightly.

 

 

 

 

"There's the payphone," says Ben, wandering by his side. Klaus follows his pointing finger and it takes him several moments longer to find it. He staggers over, feeling like he's trying to walk on a boat in a storm, and when he gets to the payphone he leans against it heavily. He fumbles to use the money he took to pay for the phone, and Ben recounts Diego's number slowly as Klaus punches it in. The world distorts around him and Klaus debates just hanging up and sitting down to rest. 

The phone rings once, twice, before picking up. "Who's this?" Diego asks, voice careful and curious. Klaus swallows, tongue heavy in his mouth. "I'm gonna hang up if you don't say anything."

Klaus' tongue dashes out across his lips. "Diego?" He utters.

"Klaus? Are you okay?" 

Klaus waves a hand that Diego can't see. "It worked?" He says, although it seemed like it was more of a question.

"It worked, Klaus. Where are you? We're all at Vanya's apartment."

Klaus licks his lips and looks around. "I don't know," he says. "I don't know."

Ben waved a hand in front of his face. "You're near the cinema. Redview."

"Ben says Redview. Near the cinema."

Diego huffs a breath. "I'll come get you," he states, and then hesitates. He lowers his voice. "What did you take, Klaus?" He can hear someone scoff in the background.

Klaus shakes his head. "Nothing!" He blurts. His stomach aches and his mouth tastes like vodka, but he's pretty sure he didn't drink anything. He's a hundred percent sure. "I didn't take anything, Diego. I - I don't know what happened." He looks to Ben, ever the smart one and the rock throughout his unsteady life. 

"You were high as soon as we... landed. Time travel."

"Time travel," echoes Klaus, "Ben said. He said it happened as - once we 'landed'. I didn't take anything." He shifts, the payphone digging uncomfortably into his ribcage. He realises he isn't wearing a shirt. It doesn't matter much, though, because he feels like he's on fire. On the other end of the line, Diego hesitates. 

"I believe you," he says, and Klaus sighs in relief. "I'll come get you, okay?"

Klaus hums and nods, and then he drops the phone from his hand, letting it dangle from the cord. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool metal of the payphone. His heart pounds rapidly beneath his ribcage and he's not entirely sure that he's still standing. Judging by the stinging in his knees, he assumes not. He wraps his arms around his torso, swallowing against nausea that tastes like whiskey. 

"I'm trying to remember this night the first time around," says Ben, somewhere to his left. "To try and remember what you took." 

Klaus nods, swallowing dryly. "Molly," he croaks. He's taken that enough to know what that feels like, to be able to recognise it. "Weed." Assuming from the smell and his regular use of it, anyway. He waves a hand. "Other stuff." 

It's not like it matters now; not when he's completely missed most of the good effects. He was sure it must have been heavenly, but he can't remember any of it now. The house was only a few minutes away. He could walk back into the party and no doubt find anything he wanted to, anything that'd make him soar again. 

Klaus moves his hands up to his eyes, rubbing them and groaning mournfully. He had just gotten sober, just found the motivation to detox and get clean, and he didn't have a say in it now about whether or not he relapsed. Maybe, Klaus thought, sobriety simply wasn't a possibility for him anymore. Maybe he was destined to just be stuck in the loop of withdrawals and detox and relapse, destined to just continue losing himself to drugs until the little girl on her bike decided she was done watching him mess around. 

A hand on Klaus' shoulder makes him jump, and he peels his heavy eyelids open to look up. Diego stares down at him, brown eyes soft with concern. He raises his eyebrows.

"You good, bro?" He asks, and Klaus takes his offered hand to pull himself to his feet. When he pitches forwards, Diego catches him with an arm around his waist. His eyebrows furrow. "Where's your shirt? It's freezing."

Klaus shakes his head. "Hot," he mutters. Diego snorts.

"Alcohol and drugs would do that to you," he says. His hand disappears from Klaus and he shrugs out of his jacket and holds it out. "Put it on. You'll catch your death." He looks Klaus up and down and tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing. "Where's your shoes?"

Klaus waves a hand over his shoulder. "Dunno." 

Diego cringes but nods nonetheless, helping Klaus manoeuvre his shaking arms into the sleeves of Diego's baggy leather jacket. He lets Klaus lean on him as they walk, steadying him. Klaus doesn't say anything, still trying to grapple with everything that happened. 

"Is everyone alright?" Klaus asks, glossy eyes flicking up to Diego. 

"Everyone's fine. Five's tired, but if you ask him he'll say he's fine. How about you?" He stops walking, holding Klaus' arms to steady him. Klaus raises an eyebrow slightly. "I want you to tell me if you did take anything, Klaus. Purposefully," he says, voice low and firm. Klaus' eyes widen slightly and he glances to Ben, who sighs and shakes his head.

"Diego," he says, gripping his forearms. "I was sober. Ben - Ben'll say so. You said you believed me."

Diego presses his lips together. "I do, Klaus. But I'd also like to know if I need to watch you for an overdose."

Klaus waves his hand again, shaking his head. "No... no. Earlier? Maybe. Now? No. I'm just... it hurts," he groans, and he begins taking a few steps forwards again. Diego follows, letting his grip loosen on him. It's not the first time Diego's seen him in this kind of state, and, according to the universe, it probably won't be the last time either. Diego and him had been close as children, less so in their late teens when Klaus really began to get into drugs, but Klaus had always had a soft spot in Diego's cold heart, he'd like to think. Diego had often times picked Klaus up whenever he'd gotten too bad at a party and phoned him, and he'd driven him to rehab before, let him crash in his old apartment a few times and even given him some money to get a motel room before realising it was futile and only going to drugs every time. 

"Well, looks like you're just gonna have to get sober again, bro."

Klaus snorts, scrubbing a hand down his face. "It's impossible," he mutters disdainfully. "Impossible."

Diego claps a hand onto Kaus' shoulder. "Not so impossible, Klaus." 

Klaus rolls his eyes but focuses on wrapping Diego's jacket tighter around himself as a particularly nasty breeze makes his teeth chatter. Diego and him are the same height, or pretty much the same height, but it still hangs off his slender shoulders, loose on him. Distantly, Klaus tries to remember what kind of year 2014 was for him. He thinks he might have had a serious overdose, then. Him and Ben had a fight. Klaus dislocated his shoulder - no, someone else dislocated his shoulder when he caught Klaus stealing a nice ring from his bedroom. Most of the year had been lost to colourful pills and little white lines. Klaus shrugs his thoughts off.

"Like old times, huh?" Diego muses, and Klaus raises an eyebrow. "Remember when we were eighteen. I'd just gotten a car and you'd just left the academy all of a sudden and went to some party. I got a call at, like, two in the morning from some girl on your phone. 'You his brother?' she asked. 'He's fucked. Like, utterly fucked, but he won't say where he lives. Can you come pick him up?' and what was I gonna do? So I get there, this girl's trying to get you to drink some water, you had lost your shirt - again - and when you saw me, you tried to say hi but fully vomited everywhere and then passed out. I had to carry you up to my car and into my apartment, back when you actually had a little meat on your bones."

"Diego," says Klaus, lips curling slightly upwards. "I don't remember that at - fucking - all." Diego barks a laugh, shaking his head. 

"Of course you don't."

"And I'm pretty sure you've carried me like this... multiple times."

Diego laughs again. If Klaus listens too hard, it's almost sad. "Yeah, I have. And that's why you're gonna get sober again."

"I didn't take anything."

Diego squeezes his shoulder. "Not now. Don't worry, bro. How are you feeling?"

Klaus moans, shaking his head. It throws his balance slightly and as he staggers, Diego reaches out to grab him and prevent him from falling over his own sore, bare feet. "Horrible. I might throw up. Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna do that."

Diego's nose wrinkles but he keeps a hand on Klaus' back as he slides down to his hands and knees, the contents of his stomach spilling. When he's done Diego helps him back to his feet, gingerly patting his back while Klaus wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. 

"My car's just around this corner." 

He guides him to the passengers seat while sliding into the drivers seat. "Seatbelt on. If you need to throw up, you tell me, alright?" He raises an eyebrow, ducking his head to catch his gaze, and Klaus slowly nods, fumbling to pull the seatbelt on. 

"It's twenty-fourteen," he murmurs, glancing over at his brother. Diego nods.

"Yup."

"Gross. I dislocated my shoulder then."

Diego glances at him. "Good for you."

"It wasn't fun. Dad's alive, then."

"Unfortunately."

"Luther on the moon?"

"Not yet. He was at the academy. Everyone's at Vanya's, including him."

Klaus hums, resting his forehead on the cool glass window. "I don't wanna get sober," he murmurs, eyes slipping closed. 

"What do you mean?" Asks Diego, eyebrows furrowing. 

"I don't want to, Diego. I'm tired of it all." He purses his lips, swallowing dryly. He is; he is just so tired of it all. He vaguely recalls that time Luther got drunk and he'd ranted about wanting to be like Klaus, because he had it so easy, he was so carefree. He'd argue otherwise. He never catches a fucking break. In that same night, he'd met God and she told him she didn't like him. 

"You just need some rest, Klaus. You can get some sleep at Vanya's."

Klaus opens his mouth to say something; maybe to snap, maybe to yell and whine and vent his life sorrows. Instead, he lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. Ben says something unimportant in the backseat, and Klaus lets the bone-deep exhaustion in him drag him down.

 

 

 

 

Diego knows that Klaus wouldn't have willingly sought out drugs, but Diego thinks it's just Klaus' luck to get thrown into the middle of doing them and have no choice but to relapse again. He does feel bad for him, really, after he proved how hard he was trying when he was getting sober, and looking at him slumped against his window, no shirt or shoes, drowned in Diego's jacket, mascara fully smudged around his eyes with some trailing down his cheeks, and sudden hickeys bruising his skin. It's odd; he had the most visible change out of all of them, suddenly appearing skinnier and paler, with random bruises littering his body and what looks like incredibly fresh hickeys on his neck. It's unsettling and part of Diego wants to send the police to whatever party Klaus had crashed. He's out for it now, unconscious against his window, and Diego simply focuses on driving. 

When he finally pulls up outside of Vanya's apartment, he reaches out to shake Klaus awake and help him up the staircase. It takes longer than it should; Klaus swaying and hardly holding his own head up. He clings onto Diego, muttering under his breath and he isn't sure if it's to him, to Ben, or to himself. He leans against the wall as Diego opens the door and guides him inside. Everyone's still in the living room, spread out along the seats. Five was talking although he stops as Diego staggers in with Klaus. 

"Nice of you to join us. It wouldn't be a family meeting without our high brother," Five comments, eyes going up and down Klaus and narrowing. Diego glares at him.

"He didn't take anything. You dropped us into a time where he originally had. It's not his fault." He glances at Klaus to see if he's going to defend himself or, more accurately, try and say something witty and sarcastic, but after the conversation in the car Klaus had just looked utterly defeated. Five snorts and looks down at his hands. 

Diego guides Klaus to the kitchen, raking around until he finds a cup and he pours some water into it before handing it off to Klaus, who's watching the city streets outside a window, eyes distant. Diego waves a hand near his face, eyebrows raised. 

"You with me, ghost boy?" He asks, and Klaus blinks, takes a sip of his water and swallows heavily.

"Yeah," he mutters dismissively. He sips the water, hugging the cup between both of his shaking hands. Diego decides not to press for his jacket any time soon. 

"Well, since everyone's here, we've got some stuff to discuss. Unless you want to tuck him into bed."

"Five," Diego growls. "Maybe _you_ ought to go to bed, kid."

Five glares at him. "I'm old enough to be your father, dumbass."

"I never thought I'd say that I'm glad Reginald was instead." 

Five scoffs, rolling his eyes. He gestures to the door. "Go see him then, since he's fucking alive."

"You say that like _I_ transported us to a time he was alive," Diego states, shaking his head.

"Guys, _shut up_ ," Allison snorts, rolling her eyes. "Five, you passed out, you still need to take it easy. Klaus, you need to sit down as well. How is he?"

" _He_ ," says Klaus, "is just dandy." His eyes don't seem to really focus on any of them.

"He's fine," replies Diego, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "You need to sleep it off, Klaus." 

Klaus sighs, looking to thin air that Diego assumes is Ben, and his eyes flutter closed. He staggers over to an empty armchair, slumping into it and pulling his long legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. He blinks owlishly at everyone, eyes dull and pupils still blown wide, Diego's jacket zipped right up and he seems to be sinking into it like it's a blanket. Diego really resigns himself to not asking for it soon. With a sigh, Diego steps over, leaning against the wall.

"We talking or what?" He asks, folding his arms across his chest. Five moans as if dealing with his siblings causes him pain, dropping his face into his hands. 

"There's a lot to talk about," he mutters, looking away as if trying to brace himself. Diego lets his eyes close for a while, deciding the day has gone on for entirely too long. He pinches the bridge of his nose and steels himself for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a kudos or a comment if you liked it! I appreciate everything! <3


	4. Derail The Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! But I hope you enjoy this part!

Klaus can hear them all talking, of course, because they won't stop. Their voices buzz around him like irritating flies that he can't swat away and it all drills right into his skull. If he could find it in himself to work his tongue, he might snap at them to shut up. He can't quite hear what they're saying, though, for he doesn't care to focus on the conversation enough. He's more concerned with the breathlessness in his lungs, the migraine in his head, and the bright colours that, when he unfocuses his eyes, swirl around in his vision.

He knows Ben's there, too, somewhere to his side no doubt. And, also no doubt actually paying attention to the conversation at hand. That would come in handy later when one of his siblings asked him a question and he could turn to Ben to fill him in on the conversation up until then. His fingers shake and bounce along his stomach, unsteady, and they tingle slightly as if there’s static running through his blood.

He can’t do much about that, though. Drugs are still consuming his mind, though this happens to be a painful lull in their high, making him hyperaware of the fact that he’s not sober, yet unable to do anything about it. He simply wants the high to peak again, and maybe he’ll black out and lose two hours to sitting on this chair, staring at the floor, and shaking like a phone on vibrate.

He doesn’t so much as fall asleep as he does let reality slip from his fingers. He lets them all talk about whatever it is – he _knows_ he ought to try and listen, but he finds that when he tries to make an attempt to focus, he focuses too much on focusing rather than the conversation, and the drugs only tighten their hold on him even further and try and pull him down harder than if he just let it happen – and doesn’t bother trying to give his own input, nor does anyone ask him for it.

He tucks himself further into Diego’s jacket, presses further into the armchair, and he simply doesn’t think. Or if he does, he can’t remember what he thinks of as soon he thinks it.

Someone crouches in front of him. A hand settles onto his knee, shaking gently, an attempt to bring his attention to him, and Klaus blinks several times, heavy and lethargic, and Diego swims into clarity. “Hey, bro,” he says, his voice gentle. Klaus grunts. “We’re done talking. Come on, get up, there’s a spare mattress to sleep on and you’re taking it.”

“ ‘m fine,” Klaus murmurs. Diego pries his hands away from his chest, tugging him gently to coax him to unravel from the ball he’s curled up in and onto his feet. “Can sleep on the floor. Five – give it to Five.”

“Five’s in Vanya’s bed. You’re next in line for comfort, alright?”

Klaus blinks. Suddenly he’s standing in front of a mattress tucked into a corner. He doesn’t remember walking to it. Diego’s still holding his hands, keeping him steady. He cranes his neck to look around. Ben’s watching him with an unidentifiable expression.

“Where’s the others?” He asks.

“Allison went out to call Patrick, and then her and Luther are going to go out and get some groceries and supplies for Five,” Diego reports. He moves the blanket aside on the mattress before urging Klaus down onto it. Klaus grunts his acknowledgement.

“Did you sort everything out?” Klaus asks. He slides down until he’s lying on his side, head falling onto the pillow, and Diego leans over him to grab the blanket and pull it over him. There’s a pause before he talks.

“A bit,” he finally says. “We just need to lay low for a while. We’ll talk once you’ve sobered up.”

Klaus huffs a breath, closing his eyes briefly and then wrenching them open before time can slip away again. “What’re you doing now?” He asks. He watches Diego step aside, just in view in the kitchen as he fills a glass with water.

“Right now? Taking care of you, since no one else knows how to deal with you when you’re off your face. Though you’re actually behaving this time,” Diego jokes.

“I didn’t mean it,” Klaus murmurs. Diego pauses, then a sigh leaves his lips. He comes close, sets the glass within reach, and then he crouches down in front of him.

“I know, Klaus,” he says. “It’s alright. Just get some rest, okay?”

Klaus doesn’t respond and Diego reaches a hand out to ruffle his hair and then he stands, disappearing from his line of sight, and Klaus melts into the mattress. His eyes fall closed and his hands curl into the blanket over himself, tugging it right up to his chin.

Would Dave be mad at him, he wonders. Would he be mad that his sobriety’s broken and that he isn’t so sure that he wants to fight for it again? Not that he doesn’t want to fight for Dave – god, does he want Dave here, need him by his side again, more than anything, more than the drugs – but, despite this, he can’t bring himself to find the motivation. What he had before time travelling is gone. Willpower and hope tossed aside, and maybe, just maybe, it really isn’t meant to be. Him and sobriety, that is.

These thoughts linger in his mind, lull him into sleep, with dark, cold, incoherent dreams that fill him with fear and leave him with the feeling of blood underneath his fingernails.

 

###

 

He’s entirely grateful for the glass of water that Diego left by his bedside. He reaches for it as soon as he’s awake and downs half of it greedily, sating the burning in his throat. Then he looks around, blinking groggily at his surroundings, and then he fumbles to push himself upright into a sitting positon. His hands go out to catch himself as everything pitches forwards, and he has to blink in surprise at the remaining high still clinging to him.

He can’t remember what it is he did last night, but obviously at least enough to keep him at least buzzed this morning. Or, perhaps he’s been on the streets and strung out for a while and this is a moment in which he was always high, preferring drugs over food so that it fucks with his tolerance.

He drags his hands down his face, letting out a quiet moan and doubling over.

“You okay there?”

His eyes flick up and he sees Allison. She is standing in the kitchen a few feet away from him, pouring a mug of coffee. Klaus heaves a breath and then nods. “I’m fine,” he dismisses, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Allison smiles sadly at him and just nods.

“Coffee?” She asks, holding the pot of coffee up and raising her eyebrows.

“That’d be magical, please.”

She pours him a cup and hands it over. His hands close around it, hugging the mug and sapping all the warmth from it that he can. His lips purse as he blows across the surface, cooling it gently before he takes a sip.

He can hear other people around the apartment. He can hear Five and Vanya in her bedroom, can hear the shower running, can see Luther sitting in the living room and staring out the window, deep in thought. He turns back to Allison.

“How – how are you?” He asks. And that brings a genuine smile to her face as she looks down at her coffee, drumming her fingertips on the mug.

“Good,” she says, unable to wipe that smile away. “I, uh. This is like a second chance,” she says, letting out a sigh. “I can fix what I did wrong with Claire and Patrick. I can fix all that. I spoke to him last night and I’ll stay here for a while, we have a lot to figure out first, but after everything settles down? This could be a real chance.”

She sounds so hopeful, too. Klaus hums, offering a twitching smile. “I’m glad to hear it,” he murmurs, looking down at his hands. He falls quiet, nursing his coffee slowly. Diego comes out of the bathroom, hair damp, and Five and Vanya come out a few minutes afterwards. Five minutes later and they all have coffees in their hands and are sitting in the living room, Klaus included.

He sits down on an armchair, pulling his legs up onto the seat and draining his coffee.

“Vanya is back on her meds,” says Five, looking at them all. His eyes linger for a moment on Klaus, his lips press together, and then he looks away again. “We’ll wean her off them. She’ll come off them slowly to get used to her powers. It’d be best if we could find Dad’s notes on them, though, so we know what we’re dealing with.” He looks at Luther, then. “In terms of the Commission; I don’t know what will happen with them.” He purses his lips, looks away in thought. “They exist outside of time. The damage should be done. We should be safe from them for the most part, but I wouldn’t get comfortable. I’d suggest that we try not to fuck up this timeline too badly, either. Preferably not at all, but my being here in the first place already changes it; being here right now changes it.” He seems to say that last part to himself, muttering beneath his breath and staring inside his mug of coffee as if it might give him some reprieve.

He lifts his head, turning to Luther. “Do you think you could go to the Academy and find files on Vanya?” He asks. Luther’s tongue dashes across his lips, face conflicted.

“I don’t know where to start looking for them,” he says. “And Dad would be there. He wouldn’t let me in his office.”

Five sighs but nods. “I know,” he mutters. “Did he stay in the Academy when you went to the moon?”

Luther shrugs. “For the most part, I think, but probably not all the time. He probably had those meetings with old friends like always did. Might have gone to a few different countries for a while, too, but that was after about five months, I’d say.”

Five grunts his acknowledgement. “Any ideas?” He asks. “There was that red book, but I don’t know where that came from.”

“Red book?” Klaus asks, daring to interject. Five nods.

“There was a journal that had a lot on Vanya’s powers; red with gold lettering. But I’m willing to bet that he has multiple files on her spread about, just to make it harder to get everything on her. Why? Did you see it?” His eyes narrow curiously and Klaus glances at Ben.

The memory is fuzzy, a haze of alcohol over the whole situation, but possibly. That pearl box he pawned – and oh, _shit_. Pogo had been insistent on getting the contents of the box back for a reason. Oh. And Leonard had found it, because it had been in the dumpster because Klaus had taken the box and thrown out the contents. Oh, shit. _Fuck_.

He closes his eyes. Was that all his fault, then? Because he’d wanted to get high and stolen from Reginald and chucked out the book, right into the hands of Leonard or Harold or whatever his name was.

“Uh, I, uh. Maybe,” he says.

“What does that mean?” Five asks, eyebrows raised.

“I rummaged around in some of his drawers in his office,” he states, looking away. “I think I saw it, or it might have just been another red book, god knows, I was pretty drunk, honestly. But in his drawers of his desk. I didn’t see inside of it, or know if it’s the same one you’re talking about but – there was a red book.” He shrugs helplessly, then raises his hand to his mouth and chews on his thumbnail. Five scrutinises him for an agonisingly long moment before nodding.

“What side of the desk?”

“Left.”

He nods. “I’ll go get that tonight, then. Luther, are you going back to the Academy?”

Luther startles a little at the question. His lips move silently, uncertain, and he blinks. “I – uh, I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know how I’d get out of being sent to the moon, but I don’t have anywhere else to go.” His large shoulders move in a heavy, helpless shrug.

“Well, this seems to be a bit of a safe house,” Five comments. “Except for Allison and Diego,” he adds. “Seeing as they have houses and Allison has enough money to buy the apartment across from here on a whim.”

Allison looks unimpressed, giving him a cold glare. She turns to Luther. “I’ll buy us a hotel room,” she offers. “There’s probably a hotel nearby, so we’ll be close but not crowding around here.”

Five shrugs. “It ought to be fine,” he says. His eyes look to Klaus, who quickly looks away with his stomach falling. Where is he going to go? Allison, he knows, probably doesn’t want to spend money on getting him a hotel room as well. Five probably doesn’t want him here. He can’t go to the Academy. Diego has a house – probably with that detective lady, too, so he can’t barge in there. He’d gotten used to sleeping indoors the past week in the Academy, and in motels and such in ‘Nam. The streets didn’t sound particularly inviting.

“Klaus?”

Klaus wets his lips. “I, uh,” he stammers over his words, bites at his thumbnail again. “I’ve got – I’ll find a place, it’s fine.” He waves a hand dismissively. Five gives him a look.

“An alleyway doesn’t count, Klaus.”

He grimaces and then forces a grin. “You got me,” he says, forcing a laugh past his lips.

“Well, we can figure it out. We ought to stay together here for at least a few more days, in case the Commission comes after us. It would be better to stay together.”

Everyone nods their heads in agreement and Klaus relaxes into the chair he’s on, tension leaving his shoulders. He can find somewhere to stay with a little time. It’s fine; he’s fine.

 

###

 

He forces himself to actually interact with his family; he helps cook some breakfast for everyone, consisting of some pancakes that he’s actually pretty proud of and everyone seems to enjoy them, too. He feels a little better at that, the idea of not being the fuck up all the time, even if he feels shitty, withdrawals creeping underneath his skin and settling into the marrow of his bones.

He showers and it turns out Allison bought him a jumper and a pair of shoes, which is amazing. He eagerly puts them on, returning Diego’s jacket to him, and they drift into a casual day; the television remains on, they cook, they eat, Allison takes a few breaks away to go phone Patrick and Claire, and Diego phones Eudora, too. Five remains vigilant, watching for any signs of time anomalies that might hint to the Commission returning with a vengeance.

It’s almost nice. It is nice, actually, if Klaus could overlook the heaviness in his bones and the void widening in his chest, beneath his ribcage, devouring everything in its wake.

They have stir fry for dinner. They settle down to rest and Five disappears in a flash of blue and returns half an hour later with a red book in his hands, of which he sets down on the coffee table, looks around at his half-asleep siblings, and decides to mercifully leave it until the morning. He goes to Vanya’s bedroom where Klaus assumes he’s resting, and Klaus continues to pretend to sleep.

An hour later and he sits upright. Allison is snoring on one chair, Luther on the couch, Diego on the floor.

“You okay Klaus?”

Ben sits up, looking up from his book when he hears the rustle of bedsheets. Klaus ignores him, because if he doesn’t he might feel guilty.

He slides his shoes on, quiet, ever so quiet, and steps over Diego’s legs to reach the door. The keys are hung up on a hook beside it, easy for him to take and unlock it. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he steps outside without waking any of his siblings, successful, too, in ignoring Ben as he becomes increasingly worried and stern – _Klaus, what are you doing, why are you going outside, you can open a window if you need air, Klaus, don’t do this._

He’s sorry, Ben. Really, he is. But there’s a hole in him that matches Dave’s and he’s afraid it might devour him entirely and he’s afraid he’s not really alive, but there is one thing that makes him feel it.

Klaus heads out onto the dark streets. He knows exactly where to go. He’s taken these paths hundreds of times.

He still has some money from that guy he stole from at the party, much to his pleasure and Ben’s displeasure. It’s enough to find him in the back of an alleyway, talking in hushed murmurs to a man with a scar on his left cheek and a slightly lopsided grin that makes him look like he’s always smug, always smirking.

He blows it all then and there. He doesn’t know when he might get a chance next to get out and buy something.

The dealer leaves the alleyway first, his pockets light while Klaus’ are heavier.

“Klaus,” Ben sighs, unsuccessful in getting him to turn around this whole time. “Please, don’t do this. I know – I know it’s hard, Klaus, but you were doing so well and it wasn’t your fault and no one blames you for it. You were doing so well – you could fully manifest me! Klaus, please think about this.”

But he already has. He’s been thinking about it since he woke up that morning, had been thinking about it as the high left and the elderly woman in the corner of Vanya’s apartment kept humming some old tune that was steadily getting on his nerves, and he had thought about it when Dave’s ghost refused to come to his side.

“Think about Dave,” Ben pleads.

He already has. He’s never not thinking about Dave.

But sorry, Dave, he thinks. Oh god he’s so sorry, oh so sorry, but he can’t do it.

He shakes a couple of colourful, fun-shaped pills onto the palm of his hand and swallows them dry with skilled ease, the kind of ease that took him only a couple of months of consistently taking them to perfect, and less than a year later and he hardly batted an eye at taking multiple at a time, dry.

The high hits him before he even reaches Vanya’s apartment. He hides the multiple baggies of bliss in his pants, the only safe place for them, and he focuses on being quiet as he slips inside.

No one stirs. He locks the door, takes off his shoes, hangs the keys up. No one moves.

Klaus lays back down on the mattress with a small sigh. He was in and out quickly with an entire stash that ought to last him quite a while, too. He got a variety of stuff; stuff that will make the world melt around him, stuff that will make him melt, stuff that will make reality stop being real. He’ll take the heavier stuff at nights, after his siblings sleep, and he’ll take the ones that don’t show in his eyes or on his face during the days, in the bathroom, perhaps. They’ll be none the wiser, and he’ll be _happy._

He tells himself that, and yet the ecstasy from his high suddenly twists into something ugly, as if feeding on that dark void in his bones, and he finds himself having to muffle his sobs with his hand pressed tightly over his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, so feel free to let me know in the comments!


	5. Veins are Busy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

He doesn't sleep that night. He didn't expect to; he was too high to fall asleep and he knew that would happen. Instead, he finds himself staring at a wall, blinking away time carelessly, lost to his own torturous thoughts at times. By the time his siblings are beginning to wake up, he feels heavy with fatigue. Nonetheless, he forces himself to get up and go to the bathroom first, before anyone can really pay much attention to him. He locks the door and turns to the sink, grabbing it and leaning heavily on the porcelain. He lifts his head to confront his reflection in the mirror.

He looks pale, tired, sure, but his pupils aren't blown wide any longer; have returned to a perfectly sober appearance. He heaves a sigh of relief, scrubbing his hands down his face and then going to the shower. He strips his clothes off and as he does, multiple little baggies fall free from where they had been trapped between his hips and the waistband of his pants.

Klaus hisses, swiping them up like a thief trying to cover his tracks, and then he hides them back in his pants, then pauses. 

What's a little to get his day started? 

He reaches for a bag. Vicodin, he thinks, or maybe even xanax; he isn't sure and he doesn't really care, but out tumbles white pills onto the palm of his hand that are quickly stolen by his mouth. It's something small, he tells himself. A little to keep him going, to sate the void in his torso for a little while longer. 

He showers quickly, changes, ensures that one cannot tell there are little plastic bags full of pills and powder hidden beneath his waistband, ensures that his pupils aren't large, that the world feels like it's being held at arms length from him, everything distant and not quite real, either, and then he leaves the bathroom.

Ben gives him pitying looks. Klaus ignores him. 

"We're making pancakes again," says Diego, stepping into the bathroom after him. Klaus raises an eyebrow, realises he hasn't responded immediately.

"Okay," he says, as if uncertain that the words are actually leaving his lips, but Diego is already going into the bathroom and closing the door. Klaus turns to sit back on the mattress on the floor, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. The smell of pancakes begins to float dizzingly to his nose and he sees Allison up by the stove, making them. Diego comes out of the bathroom, Five teleports inside as Luther puts one foot in the door and huffs.

"How are you feeling, bro?" Diego asks him. "You look like shit."

Klaus snorts, drags himself back to reality. Is it real? It doesn't feel it, and he hopes it's not. "Thanks, bro," he mutters nonetheless, sighing. "I didn't sleep well." Not really a lie; he didn't sleep at all.

Diego gives him a sympathetic look. "Withdrawals?" He asks. Klaus shrugs.

"A little," he says, looking away to watch Allison cook. Diego rests his hand on Klaus' knees.

"You'll get there," he offers, patting him once before standing. Klaus wants him to stop lying.

Before, he'd always hated that his siblings had given up on him; hated when they expected him to be high, hated their dismissive tones. Now he hates Diego trying to be nice, to be understanding, encouraging. He wishes they'd just look down their noses at him so he could leave and settle down in a nicely sheltered alley. They were right to give up on him; he always goes back to drugs. 

 _(He doesn't want that; he wants to be part of the family, he wants to sleep indoors, he wants to help, to prove himself, to have their praise. He doesn't want to return to what he was._ _)_

He sighs, closes his eyes and tilts his head back to lean against the wall.

"Diego will notice," Ben murmurs beside him, "when you don't have withdrawals. Just flush it now, Klaus."

Klaus ignores him. His hand finds Dave's tags, steady around his neck. He feels like he shouldn't touch them; his hands are filthy, he'd taint them, corrupt what is left of Dave. He doesn't deserve this little thing that he has left. His thumb follows the engraving of his name, the Star of David. 

"I know that it's hard, Klaus," Ben says, insists, voice still gentle. "But you don't have to do it. Like Allison said - this is a second chance, right? You got the shitty end of the stick, yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to stick to it. Just flush the rest of the stuff. Everyone's here for you." 

Klaus wishes the drugs blocked out Ben, too. They used to, immediately following his death; he had seen Ben the night he died, and he'd spent the next two months constantly high until he overdosed and woke up to Ben's face, and Ben simply never left. Klaus isn't sure how that works, but it's annoying. 

"They'll be able to tell. You won't have withdrawals, and you'll be exhausted and spaced out, or you'll misplace one of the bags and they'll find them. You won't be able to manifest me. You can't sneak out every night. You're just hurting yourself, Klaus, please."

Klaus closes his eyes and turns his head away. Ben becomes a distant buzz in the back of his ears.

A hand on his shoulder shakes him. Allison is there, holding a plate of pancakes, and he has a strong sense of deja vu from yesterday. 

"Sorry," she says when he startles, "I wasn't sure if you were awake or not. I made pancakes."

Klaus smiles at her, taking the plate. "Thank you," he murmurs, and then she goes off to give someone else a plate, and he picks at his food. He hasn't got much of an appetite. He picks at it slowly with disinterest.

"Klaus," says Five, standing by the living room where everyone else is. "Come here, we're talking."

Klaus groans. He heaves himself onto his feet and trudges his way towards a chair, falling onto it precariously and trying not to let his pancakes fall of the plate. "What is it?" He grumbles. Five lifts up the red book and turns to address everyone.

"I took this from Reginald's office last night; it's the same book as before." Then, turning to Klaus, "thank you for telling me where it was. It made it easier to get it quickly."

Klaus startles at that. Five's eyes bore into him, burning, and his gut twists in guilt. Christ, his family thinks he's doing good, too. Diego looks a little proud of him. Five's face is unreadable, but he nods at Klaus, and Klaus is just sitting there, high, with all kinds of drugs hidden in his pants, ever the family fuck up. 

He hates himself, then. He swallows, unable to meet Five's eyes. "Uh, yeah. Cool, uh, it's whatever," he shrugs. His fingers graze his lips before he resumes the anxious habit of biting at his nails. Five moves on, thankfully.

"I read some of it earlier; mostly what the training he did entailed, the basics. This book doesn't include why he decided to suppress your powers, but there's probably more files hidden elsewhere in his office. Dad might have been a psychopath, but he also knew how to train us; I think we should follow what he did once you're off your meds, Vanya."

Vanya looks up, presses her lips together - Klaus thinks there's a hint of a smile there - and nods. "Sure," she says, and yes, there's definitely an undercurrent of excitement in her tone. "As long as it's safe, though."

"Of course," says Five, closing the book and setting it onto the coffee table. 

"So, are we just, free now?" Diego asks, a little hopeful. "We can just... live?"

Five purses his lips, glances to the side. "In a sense, yes. I think it's important we check in with one another, just in case the Commission does come back, but I'm aware you all have lives. Until Vanya's weaned off her meds, there isn't much you can do but sit around and watch television. Allison, you'll want to go back to Patrick and Claire, no doubt." He shrugs, and Klaus thinks even he looks a little relieved. 

Everyone seems to just melt in relief. 

A second chance. Diego gets Eudora, gets to keep his job. Luther gets to see everything he missed on the moon. Allison gets Patrick and Claire. Vanya gets the truth about herself.

And Klaus?

Well, Klaus gets what he always gets, he supposes, by no fault but his own. He had the choice to fall asleep or wait until his siblings went to sleep, he made the choice to leave, to buy what he did; he had the choice to flush it all instead of taking more. Hell, he still has the choice to take Diego aside, admit what he'd done, and hand the drugs over - or he can just get up and flush them right now. It's all his choice.

And yet he feels as if it isn't his choice. He doesn't know how to describe it; yes, it was him who stayed up and went out and bought it all, him who swallowed the pills. But what else is he supposed to do? He doesn't know anything else. 

 

### 

 

Diego leaves shortly after to go see Eudora, and probably to go to work, too. Allison buys two hotel rooms for her and Luther at some hotel a street over. Klaus helps clean up the bedding left behind. Five pours whiskey into his coffee. He disappears and returns with Delores. Vanya reads the book on herself and then leaves her bedroom to play the violin. (The lightbulbs flicker.)

Klaus sits, looking out the window. He feels like the world is never ending, constantly unraveling and forming before his very eyes. But that might just be because he's high. 

"I think I'll get myself a motel room," he murmurs, legs unraveling as he stands. Five eyes him. 

"What do you mean?"

"I still have some money from the guy at the party," he lies, tying his shoe laces. "I think I'll get myself a motel room. Get out of the way."

"Don't be ridiculous," Five scoffs. "You're going to go through withdrawals and I don't trust you not to pass out in your own vomit and drown. You can stay here."

Klaus deflates. Five will realise quicker than anyone else, he knows. Five's always been observant like that. "It won't be a pretty sight," he warns. "I think it's best if I just fuck off and sleep it all off. I'll, you know, come back for those family check-ups and stuff, of course, but." He shrugs. 

Five eyes him with suspicion, eyes narrowed. No one confronts Five about his drinking, he thinks. Two days into safety and Klaus is sure he must be at least a little buzzed right now. Not that Klaus is one to judge; he can't feel his tongue and his voice doesn't sound like his to his own ears. But still; everyone seems quick to judge him, but Five makes alcoholism look classy, apparently. Klaus just looks like an average street junkie. 

"I don't think that's a good idea, Klaus. You look like you're going to pass out."

"I'm cold," he says.

"The heating's been on for ages."

"Withdrawals."

Five presses his lips together with a quiet hiss of breath. "I don't think it's smart for you to be alone right now."

Klaus shrugs. "Is it ever?" Five doesn't laugh. "Look - uh, that fucking motel, the one down the street with the star on its sign - I'll be there. If you think I'm dead, you can check on me. Huh?"

Five doesn't look convinced. Nonetheless, he sighs. “Fine,” he says, nodding and taking a sip of his coffee. Klaus turns to the door with sudden energy. “Klaus,” calls Five, stopping him with his hand on the door handle. “This is a second chance,” he states. “For _all_ of us. You know where I am.”

It’s the closest to an offered hand that Five will ever admit to, and it makes Klaus feel even guiltier than before. “Thanks,” he says, throat rough and tight, and then he leaves, stepping out onto familiar streets. Home sweet home, he thinks bitterly.

“Five is right,” says Ben, falling into step beside him. “It’s a second chance for everyone, Klaus. You don’t have to do this. Klaus, _please_.”

His stomach twists but he says nothing. He’s the worst brother. He’s stolen Ben’s second chance as well, will never be able to manifest him again, and Ben will be stuck knowing what he could have if only Klaus just got his head out of his own ass. Maybe Ben will leave and be gone for good, fed up of Klaus, finally realising how irredeemably selfish he is.

Klaus walks with no destination in mind. He spent all the money he had stolen on the drugs, so a motel room is out of the question. But it’s fine. He’s used to alleyways. He can even weasel his way into a bed as well. _(But then he thinks of Dave and he can do the drugs but he can’t do that.)_

So he walks. He goes into a few random shops, wanders a library, wanders a shopping centre to get out of the cold. He ducks into a bathroom as some shops become to close and, with shaky fingers, pulls out the baggie from earlier. Everything feels too real, too intense, and it makes his heart pound beneath his ribs, makes his gut twist with guilt and self-hatred that isn’t numbed.

He swallows them with the desperation of a dying man and slumps back against the tiled wall. He’s in a single-stall bathroom and the lights are blue and Klaus remembers hearing somewhere that it’s to stop people like him from finding a vein and shooting up in here.

Stupid, Klaus thinks, because he has so many other kinds of drugs that a blue light can’t prevent him from taking.

He slides down the wall until he’s sitting down, knees up to his chest, head tipped back to rest against the wall.

This – this, he can deal with. Dirty public bathrooms and damp alleyways and shaking hands and wild eyes and a sense of nothing being real; he can deal with all of this. He’s used to this.

He forces himself to his feet, unsure of how long he’s spent there, and then trudges out, rubbing his eyes harshly. It’s beginning to get dark outside. Maybe he should have kept some of the drug money for a jacket, because the hoodie Allison bought him isn’t entirely protecting him from the chill in the air, even when he tucks his hands into the pocket and pulls the hood over his head and tucks his face down.

He begins to walk aimlessly once more. His thoughts drift away from him as if caught in a tide on its way out, and he’s perfectly content with that. He lets them go and doesn’t try to stop them or reach out for them again; he simply lets his legs carry him through street after street after street. His stomach growls and his throat feels uncomfortably dry.

He’s rarely felt like this before and he doesn’t understand. Of course, living on the streets, plagued by nightmares and ghosts, struggling to get something to eat daily and finding a place to sleep was a horrible way to live; there were days where it almost became too much, and he’d spend a few days in a dazed state, utterly miserable, with no motivation to peel himself off the floor. But often that mood went away whenever he took something; he’d get high and it’d go away and he’d go back to constant euphoria, finding his situation hilarious rather than pathetic.

But now? Now, there was a bone deep chill that refused to leave him. He felt exhausted, he felt miserable, and it wasn’t going away. He had no motivation to even go to a club to try and chase the feeling away with bright lights and loud music. He just wanted to sit down and never get up again. Maybe he could just rot away into the floor and become a ghost and go find Dave in the afterlife, or wherever.

But Dave wouldn’t want to see him. Not when he’s basically spat on his memories; thrown away any chance of seeing him by buying these drugs that he has. Dave would be so disappointed.

Klaus swipes roughly at his eyes and, suddenly, a spike of anger rises through the sadness devouring him. Damn it all. He doesn’t want to feel like this and he’ll force himself not to.

He ducks into the next alleyway. It’s empty, aside from some cat standing on top of a dumpster. It’s deep enough that he hardly gets the wind, and it isn’t so terribly smelling, either. There’s no signs of anyone else making camp here, so hopefully he ought not to have the shit beaten out of him by some other addict, or dealer, or gang, or homeless person for infringing on their territory.

He settles down, back to a wall, digs his hands into his pockets and looks between his options. He reaches for the powder, then, and succeeds in making a couple of lines. Then, with fear that even that won’t be enough to chase away this feeling, he adds one more for good measure, before snorting it all eagerly. His face screws up and he brings a hand up to rub his nose, sniffling for several moments afterwards.

He waits for it to hit in a similar way to the first time he ever had; eager, impatient, almost anxious as he waits. But then it does so quickly and breath leaves his lips as if he’s been hit by a truck, eyes widening a fraction. “Oh,” he mutters, scrubbing his hands down his face.

He can’t help but smile in relief, tension unwinding from his bones, and for now the void has closed up and he feels alive again, thank god. The hopelessness and despair disappears, as does the guilt and the self-hatred, all of it, and he falls into the high and lets it take him away.

With a sudden abundance of energy, he finds himself strolling the streets, numb to the cold – in fact, he feels boiling, his heart racing like a marathon beneath his chest, lungs unable to breathe properly with the oppressing heat surrounding him. His mouth is torturously dry and he hurries to find a water fountain. He feels as if he spends an hour there, trying to chase away the dryness of his throat before finally stepping away and allowing his feet to go wherever they want to go.

He walks through a park. How could he ever have been sad? The world is beautiful. The rustle of leaves over his head, the way the stars shine down, the gentle glow of street lamps, the sound of his shoes on the pavement, the wind making flowers sway and water ripple. The way his legs move with each step is elegant, the way his skin ripples over his knuckles when he wiggles his fingers is hypnotising, the skin stretched over his cheekbone beautiful. He is alive and he’s more than just happy; he forgets what it even feels like to be sad.

He sits down on a bench in front of a pond. The reflection of street lights and stars is captivating; he wants to dip his hand into the water and stir the sky. He does; he kneels by the edge of the pond and reaches a hand out, only for his hand to touch another one on the surface. He startles, blinking at the green-eyed man staring back at him. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s him; that’s how he looks. He gently traces his face with the fingertips of his hand not hovering over the surface of the water, intimately, gently, like a lover’s touch. His lips part and then he cups his opposite cheek, framing his face.

Then his other hand dips beneath the surface of the water ever so slightly and drags it through himself. The image distorts, swirls, collapses in on itself, devoured by stars as they spiral around him. He pulls his hand back, cradling it against his chest and then sitting back on the grass, watching the water continue to ripple and sway and morph the world into something ever changing.

When everything is so perfect, he isn’t sure how he ever felt sad before.

He watches the water ripple for a while longer; maybe forever.

He wants to be his reflection. He wants to be among the stars like his reflection is.

Klaus tilts his head up to the sky and feels how the world stretches out for eternity around him; he can feel the vastness of space around him. And Klaus is like a tiny, insignificant little speck, and nothing matters, not while this feeling lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, at least he's feeling a little better? I guess?


	6. Heart's in Atrophy

The morning rears its head slowly and the streets begin to get busier. The high wore off a couple of hours ago and now his hands are unsteady, trembling, and everything is dark and cold and his gut yearns for more. But Ben makes the point of having to see his siblings again, potentially soon, and he's not strung out enough to be stupid enough to run the risk of doing coke before seeing his siblings and pretending he isn't high.So, he has to settle for the little white pills, the ones that numb everything just so and make him light headed. At the very least, it soothes the come-down he's currently pushing through ever so slightly. 

Ben walks a few paces behind him, eyes on the floor as they head in the direction of Vanya's apartment. He only seems to look up when they near a road to ensure that Klaus doesn't walk out and get hit by a car. They pass a bakery and Klaus' stomach twists painfully and he doesn't think a brioche has ever looked simultaneously so tempting and so sickly. He carries on down the street and reaches Vanya's apartment intact, though the stairs steal his breath more than usual.

Vanya opens the door to him with a smile that falters. "Are you okay?" She asks, and Klaus waves a pale hand.Heat drifts out of her apartment and he steps inside eagerly, shoulders slumping in subconscious relief at the warmth - he hadn't noticed it before, but he is so _cold_. 

Everyone else is there. They raise eyebrows at his undoubtedly poor  and disheveled appearance, not that he can find it in himself to care. He makes his way to the armchair that he has claimed as his over the past couple of days, falling eagerly onto it. "Good to see everyone still alive," he comments. 

"Wish I could say the same about you," Diego retorts. Klaus flips him off. 

"I'm here, aren't I?" He returns, raising an eyebrow. "I'm cold, let me live. Can I go now? Daily check-in, I'm still alive."

"Not yet, Klaus," says Five, giving him an unamused look, "though you look like you could do with a shower. Go clean yourself up." Klaus frowns at him but finds himself complying anyway, trudging into the bathroom and standing under the shower as it heats up, turning his pale skin pink. His head droops and he has to constantly catch himself, one hand braced against the wall, to stop himself from nodding off and smacking his head against the tiled walls. 

He does feel a little better when he steps out, though, the physical chill chased away for the moment being, his hair clean. He pulls his clothes back on, avoids the mirror, hides his drugs and steps through Ben to return to his other siblings. They are mid-conversation and Klaus can't help but feel a bit like an intruder, forcing his way into it. 

"We'll find somewhere further out;Allison, could you look at those chalets? We could rent one of those. It'd be a safer place for Vanya to practice her powers away from people."

"I'll do that today," says Allison. 

"Luther and I can go with her," Five says. Luther startles a little - the tension between him and Vanya was thick enough to cut a knife and the idea of him, Five and Vanya living together,or whatever it was they were talking about, was laughable. And dangerous. "Since we don't have a place to go." He pauses, eyes narrowing a fraction in thought. He looks down at the coffee mug hugged between his hands. Klaus wonders if there is whiskey in this one, too. "In fact, Klaus, too."

Klaus sits upright, startled, and raises an eyebrow. "What? I missed the first half of this."

"We're going to rent a chalet out of the city for Vanya to practice her powers in. It'd be safer than trying to do it in a city full of thousands of people. Luther and I will go, too, since neither of us have our own place to, and nor do you; plus, getting out of the city ought to be good for you," states Five, raising an eyebrow. Klaus knows what arguing will make him look like so he splutters over his words for a few seconds. 

"I, uh, don't think you'd like living with me," he finishes on. What can he do in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the siblings that could kill him without batting an eye? He'd go stir crazy, and there would be no drugs, and he wouldn't get away with anything and they'd realise how useless and pathetic and disgusting he is, they would kick him out, they would be so disappointed, so disgusted, and-

"Klaus, breathe," says Ben, stepping in front of him. He inhales sharply, looking away, and wishes someone would take his emotions away from him. Why does he feel so bad? He lets Ben guide his breathing until it's steady, no longer verging a panic attack, and then he dares to look at his watching siblings. He exhales, long and slow, and flexes his fingers, swallows. 

"Sorry," he mutters. "I'm a bit all over the place - this is what you would have to deal with." He nods at Five, who just raises an eyebrow.

"Thanks for making my point as to why you shouldn't be alone," returns Five. Klaus waves a hand at Ben.

"I'm not alone; I have a ghost stalker, I'm fine." Ben gives him a look.

"Can you manifest Ben for us?" He asks. Klaus pauses, lips parted. 

"Klaus," murmurs Ben, shoulders slumping, but he doesn't continue. He's said everything he has to say anyway. 

"Uh, no. Not yet. I feel like shit; I haven't got that kind of energy," he defends, slightly rambling. Guilt twists his guts when he sees the way all of his siblings deflate a little at that, eying the spot Klaus waved at. 

"Take your time," says Diego, quiet, and Klaus closes his eyes and tips his head back. "But the chalet - it would be good for you," he says, and Allison murmurs her agreement. 

"When?" Klaus dares to ask. Five looks thoughtful, eyes sliding towards Allison.

"In a week, maybe. Let Vanya come off her meds somewhere she's familiar with, then head out."

Allison nods in agreement. Klaus presses his lips together. "Maybe," he murmurs unconvincingly, looking out the window. "Are we done? I have leftovers that are calling my name."

Five presses his lips together, sighs, and looks over everyone with a raised eyebrow. 

"I've got to go to work," Diego murmurs with a nod, standing up and pulling his jacket back on. 

"Alright," Five utters. "Same time tomorrow, then, but keep your eyes open for anything odd."

Klaus heaves himself onto his feet, following Diego out quickly. On the streets, they all part ways, and Klaus doesn't know where he's going to go but he'll figure that out. Before he can quite go, though, Diego's hand lands on his wrist and he startles slightly. Taking him a few steps to the side, Diego hesitates over his words. 

"You have my number," he states. "And you know the street I'm staying on, if you need me, okay?" 

Klaus pauses, staring at Diego, and surely he must know, how can't it be obvious? 

"Thanks,bro," he says, and he pats his arm and then they leave, the offer dropping hard between them. 

It takes him a shamefully little amount of time to find himself in a public bathroom, eager to feel like he did last night, feel anything but how he feels now. His nose stings and he worries it might bleed for a moment, holding his hand below it, but it just stings until it's suddenly numb and he stumbles out into the blinding light of the day, one hand lifting to shield his eyes from the sun and Ben's sad, sad face.

It’s amazing, he thinks, how easily the drugs steal away the importance of everything. He doesn’t feel bad when he looks at Ben anymore, he doesn’t feel guilty when he thinks of Five thanking him for his help, or when he and Diego offered to help him if he needed it. He no longer feels bad at all. Nothing is important besides the way the world seems to shimmer in the sunlight, how the wind running through his hair feels like fingers, like Dave’s fingers, and how he can almost pretend that Dave is right behind him, breath cold on his ear, arms hovering just an inch from touching Klaus. The feeling of his presence is so strong that he has to stop and turn around, fully expecting to see him standing there with a grin on his face; but the pavement is empty behind him and Klaus is alone. But that’s okay.

He’s fine.

He has plenty of time until he has to go see his siblings again, too, and so when he blinks and things begin to get a little clearer, he staggers into an alleyway and tops up his high with a couple of extra lines. People on the streets give him odd looks, the kind of odd looks that Klaus is used to, and he thinks they must just be jealous; the world is a cold, cruel, bleak place, and they must be so jealous of how Klaus is seeing it right now, of how he’s able to block it all out and see the beauty and just the beauty all thanks to some little white lines that are easily procurable if you know the right kind of people.

It begins to get a little darker in a handful of blinks. There’s a slight chill in the wind once more that has him hiding his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie and opting for short cuts down sheltered alleyways with buildings on either side that tower above him and look, for a few seconds, as if they’re closing on him.

“Klaus,” says Ben, drawing his attention to him. Life must be so boring, Klaus thinks, for Ben. Stuck, unable to do anything physically, doomed to follow Klaus for eternity as he explores life, meets new people and makes friends, goes to parties and has fun. If only Klaus could manifest him, only just for a minute or two, and maybe Ben would be able to join him.

“You’ve not slept and not eaten much in a while, Klaus. Please, just go to Vanya’s for tonight at least,” he pleads. “I don’t know how you’re not about to pass out, honestly.”

Klaus waves a hand at him. “I’m full of energy,” he declares. “I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. I’m fine! I don’t think I have any money to buy anything anyway. Walking is supposed to be good for you, Benny, it’s fine.”

Ben deflates inexplicably. He’s fine; he would sleep if he could, but he can’t and that isn’t his fault (is it?) and he would eat if he could but he has no money to buy anything. What is he supposed to do? Vanya and Five would be mad if he showed up, so he ought to let them have some bonding time – after all, Five was gone for so long and he and Vanya had always been the closest. They have catching up to do, no doubt, without the pressing matter of the Apocalypse or the Commission.

So no, he’ll leave them to it, and he’ll keep walking around, taking in the sights around him.

Then he walks past a club. The lights are on, deep, crimson red, enticing, and he can hear muffled music from inside, pounding against the door and the walls and the windows, as if trying to escape, to come outside and reach him with hooked fingers and pull him in.

So he abides, stumbling through the door. The flashing lights stun him for a moment and he staggers, blinking dazedly, ears assaulted by music eagerly trying to devour him. It’s blessedly warm inside and he sighs relief and takes shuffling steps further inside, through a crowd of dancing people, and _yes._ The lights and the music and the dancing clashes with the high of his mind and he can feel himself getting amped up. Tension falls from his shoulders and he rolls them back, then he lets the music sink hooks into the marrow of his bones and he follows its guiding hands.

He just needs to loosen up for a while. Getting high and observing the world is great, but Klaus has always been a people person. Getting high and having conversations with kind-eyed strangers, dancing, flirting, laughing with others; this is what he craves, what builds him up until he’s on top of the universe.

So he dances, and he laughs. He stumbles into the bathroom and has a conversation with a guy on the floor after having a little too much to drink, and Klaus manages to get him water because he’s always functioned better high than drunk and the man looks like he needs it. Klaus pats his shoulder before leaving him to it, and he returns to the club. He talks to a woman with a Mohawk that he fawns over for a while – he had wanted a Mohawk once, but had never went through with getting one, but this woman rocks it – and she makes his day (night?) by taking his chin in her hand and lining his eyes with dark eyeliner after he mentions how he lost his own eyeliner pencil.

He dances with someone. He notices that they wear really cool platform shoes that he loves and their lips are painted black and they dance in a way that is almost hypnotising and they promise to teach him, sometimes, if he would like, and they place a hand on the small of his back for the rest of the song. Klaus downs a glass of water at some point in an effort to chase away the dryness in his throat.

He stumbles his way to the bathroom, briefly revelling in the fresh, cooler air and lack of suffocation. The man is still in the bathroom, the glass of water empty. He’s sitting upright, looking a little better at the least, and he recognises Klaus, greeting him with a smile and a nod. He watches Klaus stumble to a sink and pulls out his baggie of coke ( _and oh god he’s running out he needs to get more soon it’s gone_ -)

“Oh, _shit_ ,” breathes the man, eyes wide. “Is that coke?”

Klaus’ head throws back as if the act of snorting it is like a physical kick to the jaw, and he blinks, screws his face up, rubs his nose and then places the now-empty bag back in the waistband of his pants, safe.

“Just a little,” Klaus laughs. “It’s fine, it’s mine.”

“I don’t want some,” dismisses the man, waving a hand. His head tips back, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “That’s just… wild, man.”

Klaus giggles, head nodding enthusiastically. Heading to the door, he calls back over his shoulder; “keep drinking water!”

He’s dancing again. He melts into the crowd on the dance floor, just another anonymous face having a good time, and he dances with people and someone kisses his neck, oh so taunting, and someone pecks his cheek with a giggle that draws one out of Klaus, too, and life is a rush like pure heroin through his veins. His back hits a wall and his hands curl in Dave’s shirt and Dave pins his hips back against the wall with his own and kisses his neck with ferocity and he smells nicotine and whiskey, that constant smell of his division on leave that smells like home, and he tries to rise to meet it but by the time he does Dave is gone and the music is modern and he’s sitting with his back to a wall.

He stumbles onto his feet, almost falls, and someone catches him, grabbing his arm until he’s steady. He’s too warm and he stumbles through the crowd, thoroughly disoriented, and then outside onto the dark streets. He falls onto his knees beneath a streetlamp, almost pitches forwards and has to catch himself onto his hands. He sits backwards, exhaling slowly, shaking, struggling to keep it even; but it doesn’t matter.

He swallows, grateful for the chill in the air that bites at his flushed skin, and he has to resist the urge to lay down on the pavement. The streets are mostly deserted save for the odd loud group of people stumbling out of clubs and bars, laughing and cackling.

Klaus laughs. Everything feels like a whirlwind; it feels as if five seconds have passed since he stumbled inside the club and stumbled back outside, though he knows that is likely not the case. He groans, tipping his head back to lean against the cool lamppost, and he rest a hand on his burning forehead. “Oh, Christ,” he mutters, giggling. He doesn’t understand how anyone can be opposed to drugs when it makes the world light up like a Christmas tree, makes him feel invincible and create deep bonds with other people that one simply can’t do sober. The only bad thing is the come-down.

“Klaus, please gets off the streets,” Ben murmurs, crouching by his side. “Please, Klaus.”

“’s fine, Ben,” Klaus breathes, gulping down air greedily. “It’s perfectly fine – I’m perfectly fine. It was hot in there.”

“You’ve been outside for twenty minutes, Klaus.”

He pauses. Then he laughs. “Oh.” He shrugs his shoulders, cheeks hurting from grinning for so long. Nonetheless, he forces himself to his feet, grabbing the lamppost when the world spins, wobbles around him. When he feels stable on his feet, he continues down the street again. He doesn’t know where he’s going to go, but he’s not tired, not hungry, not cold. He just feels the need to do something. So he walks. Stumbles, is more like it, but he keeps moving.

He takes a break in alleyways a couple of times to lean against the wall or sit down and scrub his face with his hands, as if simply fascinated by the feeling.

But morning comes in the blink of an eye and he’s surprised to see the sunrise and see the streets begin to come alive with people. He blinks his shock away and rubs his hands against his eyes. A chill runs up and down his spine, seizing his body in steady tremors, and he finds himself once more in an alleyway, trying to escape the chills that seem to go deeper than his bones. He tips his head back to rest against a wall, runs his nails over his skin. His head hurts. He doesn’t recognises the alleyway or the street he’s on.

With a little desperation, he reaches into his pants and pulls his baggie out. It almost flies out of his hand, no weight to it; it’s empty. Already, one of the baggies he has is gone, faster than he had intended it to. He makes a noise choked from his throat and lets it fly from the palm of his hands, wind stealing it away and tossing it carelessly down the alleyway. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes as if he might be able to push away the growing headache.

His hand falls down and catches on metal. He looks down, almost startled, and catches sight of a pair of dog tags, and his heart leaps into his throat. He curls his hand around it like a life line and his eyes dart to the entrance of the alleyway. Someone walks by. Klaus goes unnoticed, unreal.

The come-down is always terrible, he tells himself. One of the worst things in life, he would argue. But there’s an easy way to avoid it.

He reaches for one of the bags that aren’t empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is mainly to explore Klaus' addiction and mental health, but I'd love to hear your insights and if there is anything you'd like to see addressed! Thank you!


	7. Somewhere Outside of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up for some vague, non-descriptive smut and dubious consent/non-con towards the end of the chapter.

“You know, people typically have a few hours between each high – actually, days, really. Klaus, please, just slow down for a little.”

Klaus, like always, ignores Ben. Trembling fingers pry for one of the non-empty baggies, the one with the fun-shaped pills in different colours, and he upturns the bag to pour one pill onto his palm and then throws it into the back of his mouth, swallowing it with the desperation of a dying man. Anything to avoid the come-down, the bleakness of reality and life, that soul-crushing emptiness that threatens to devour him whole.

“Klaus,” Ben repeats, crouching by his side, “seriously, you’re powering through this, you need to slow down; you’ve got to go see everyone soon and they’ll be able to tell you’re high.”

Klaus can’t find it in himself to care. He’s more so focused on slumping back against the wall behind him, boneless, eyes closing as he waits with thin patience for his high to hit.

“Remember the last time you went this fast? You were forgetting weeks at a time, Klaus,” Ben says. Klaus, again, can’t find it in himself to care. It was probably a different circumstance from then and now; he isn’t forgetting weeks at a time, he’s just doing what he has to do. Ben simply doesn’t understand – does he not feel how cold the world is without it? It can’t just be Klaus that feels it.

But it’s okay, because the high hits and everything is good again and he stumbles up onto his feet, hands scrambling over the walls to steady himself. He leaves the alleyway, stumbling down the street again.

He doesn’t go to Vanya’s.

The street seems to go on forever and yet the buildings either side of him rush past him in a blur. He blinks and he’s suddenly far down the street, yet it seems to never end. Lights flash around him, blinding, and cars speed past him, inches from his face, and everything is so disorienting and he really has no idea where he is or how long he’s been walking for ( _does this street ever end?)_ but it’s okay. Because things are bright and colourful and he feels alive and his skin is rippling like electricity over water and his heart runs a marathon beneath his ribcage, threatening to burst right out of his flesh.

He swallows against the dryness in his throat, head swinging side to side as he tries to make sense of the incomprehensible mess of the world around him. Lights, and towering buildings, and cars. People flood the streets and he bumps into someone and almost falls, but he catches himself against a lamppost and turns to look at who he bumped into with wide eyes. The person stares at him, eyebrows furrowed, and maybe they say something but Klaus can’t be sure because they turn around quite quickly and walk away from him.

Klaus turns and continues walking as well. He places one foot in front of the other, clumsily weaves around people. Occasionally he remembers to stand upright and try and look normal, but then everything melts and he can’t quite breathe properly. He can’t filter what’s happening except for the fact that the inane chatter of everyone around him sounds a thousand times louder than usual accompanied by the sound of cars whizzing by his ears.

Ben tells him he needs to go inside somewhere and sit down. Ben has always been smart, especially in situations like this when Klaus can’t quite tell left from right and so he trust his judgement. His eyes land on the bright sign of a motel and so he makes his way to it, explaining profusely to the person behind the desk how he needs a room to stay in. The person doesn’t seem to understand Klaus, however, because he gets up and comes around to Klaus’ side, who is still explaining that he just needs a room, and he circles Klaus’ upper arms with his hands and turns him around, forcing him outside, spitting him back onto the street.

Klaus almost trips over the little step in the doorway, long arms flailing to catch himself against a lamppost nearby of which he slumps heavily onto. “Sorry, Benny,” he says breathlessly, following it with a giggle. “They won’t let me in.”

Ben gives him a look – one he can’t quite understand and doesn’t want to begin to unravel. His eyes bore into Klaus, hanging off the lamppost with his eyes closed, body seeming to vibrate as he wheezes through bouts of laughter.

“Klaus,” he murmurs, “you need to get off the street, at least – what about Diego’s? Or we can walk back to Vanya’s?”

“Oh, no,” says Klaus, shaking his head, “no, no, no, I can’t do that, Benjamin, no, no, no.” His hands push him off the lamppost, upright, and he looks around him. Not that it really helps, because he feels as if he’s forgetting things as they happen; he looks right and sees the corner of the street, a pharmacy opposite the road, and then he looks left and sees motel rooms unravelling like a thrown-out carpet rolling out in front of him, and parked cars, and he can’t remember what was to the right of him or it just ceases to exist.

He blinks, eyelids fluttering as his eyes roll back momentarily and he’s once more leaning against the lamppost as if it’s an anchor, and it might as well be.

“Klaus, at least sit down somewhere,” Ben tells him, and it does sound like a good idea – one of his better ones, since his usual ideas consist of terrible things like sobriety and family. His eyes settle in his skull once more and he turns away from the lamppost and looks around, once, twice, three times. He wishes everything would stay still, stay in the same place, and that he could focus more on his surroundings rather than the rush of blood in his veins that seems to thunder in his ears like a hurricane.

“This way, follow me,” says Ben, like a saint, and he leads Klaus when it appears that he can’t figure out which way to go in this weird maze. He doesn’t know where Ben is taking him but his eyes land onto an alleyway at one point and he decides that it looks quite inviting, really, and his legs really are tired even if they shake with the energy to go further, to run, to never stop moving.

They carry him into the alleyway and up to the back, and he tumbles down to the ground ungracefully like a sack of potatoes ripped open and the motion jars a laugh from his tight ribs. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and tiny little stones on the ground stab his cheeks and it feels fascinating.

Ben sits down opposite his head with much more grace than Klaus had. He doesn’t say anything; just watches Klaus twitch on the floor, eyes rolling back into his skull, chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths that sound sometimes like moans, sometimes like whines, like gasps and pants, as if someone has had their hand around his throat for too long or as if he’s only just learning how to breathe, each one different to the last. But, he thinks, at least he _is_ breathing.

“You know I don’t like seeing you like this,” Ben murmurs, once, but Klaus is far more interested in the way the cold floor feels beneath his fingertips, beneath his whole hand splayed out and pressed down onto it. Ben just doesn’t understand – he died too young to experience this kind of bliss and it’s entirely unfair to him.

But Klaus can do it, so it’s okay. Ben seems to be fine with the way the world is, something Klaus doesn’t think he’ll quite ever understand, but Ben can be content with that and Klaus will be content with this.

 

###

 

Reality seeps back into him slowly, like some kind of disease, worming its way through him, deeper and deeper.

He peels himself bodily off the floor, rubbing his eyes. Everything still spins, still feels like static, but now he’s aware of the fact that it’s less so than before. It’s wearing off.

_(And if it’s wearing off that means bad things are coming, things are going to get cold and dark and so twisted and cruel and that churning void inside of himself will leap forth with renewed vigour to try and dig its claws into him and devour him whole, tear him apart piece by piece, and he can’t handle it-)_

His body feels fuzzy in a kind of way he doesn’t think is due to the drugs and his hands are uncoordinated as they fumble beyond the waistband of his pants and pulls out the pills.

“Klaus,” says Ben, and he startles, blinking up at him with lethargic eyelids. “You’re still high, just wait a while – please. You’re fine, you don’t need something else just yet – just wait, please.”

His eyes seem so sad, Klaus thinks, and it’s directed at him he realises. He knows he’s still high but it’s not the same as before and it won’t last for much longer and his gut churns in an anxiety he’s not felt in years. But Ben looks so sad, so desperate, so Klaus’ hands fall onto his lap and his fingers stop trying to pry apart the little baggie, just for now. Ben seems to slump in relief, so maybe it was the right move.

“Seriously, Klaus – think about what you’re doing right now,” Ben tells him (begs him?) and he shuffles a little closer. Had he been able to make him corporeal, their knees might have touched. “You’ve slept once since we got here. Eaten less than five times at Vanya’s. You’ve already gone through all of your coke; you know you’re going too fast, doing too much, Klaus. You know it.”

And he does. The realisation – the confrontation of this fact is like a slap in the face, like being drenched in cold water. He knows now, as reality creeps into his veins with an ache in his muscles and a cramp in his guts, that he’s pushing his body too hard.

But he can’t stop. He always works things out in the end; he’ll find some food at some point within the next few days, and he’ll pass out at some point soon and rest then. It’ll work itself out. It always does.

_(Except for the many, many times that it hasn’t and those memories lurk like ghosts in the corners of his mind and come back to life every so often when he dares to fall asleep. But he’s high and when he’s high those memories can’t hurt him anymore.)_

Klaus presses his lips together and looks away, shoulders hunching in a child-like sulking motion, head hanging low. He eyes the pills in his hands hidden behind plastic _(one is shaped like a frog, another one shaped like the Batman symbol, all vibrant and pretty and enticing.)_

“I’m fine, Ben,” he drawls, words dripping slowly from his lips and he tips slightly towards Ben, who looks thoroughly unamused.

“No, you’re not, Klaus. You’re not, and I know you’re not.” He inhales deeply, sharply, almost sounding like Klaus’ own uneven gasps, and he looks away and scrubs his hands down his face. “You were doing so well. I know it’s hard, but you were sober before and you don’t need this – you have everyone here for you, you can do this.”

The artificial happiness ( _of which Klaus thinks is what he’s really addicted to, rather than the drugs themselves)_ that had been pumping through his body for hours bursts like a balloon and he slumps, heart in his throat.

“I can’t,” he says, shaking his head. “Ben, I can’t-“

“You have, Klaus, and you can do it again-“

“I fucking can’t,” Klaus snaps, curling his hand around the pills in his palm. “It hurts and I don’t want to be sober, okay? I can’t, I don’t want to, I don’t care.” He narrows his eyes and just dares Ben to argue with him, challenge him – he almost wishes he would just so that he could yell at him. Ben stares at him, unblinking, for several moments.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt, Klaus,” he murmurs and the soft tone throws Klaus briefly. “You know you can do better than this.”

Klaus shakes his head, unfurls his fist and looks at the baggie in his palm. “No,” he states, “I can’t.”

Despite Ben’s faith in him, Klaus hooks a finger into the bag and pulls out a pill to drop into his mouth. He hears Ben sigh and then he blocks him out, resting back against the wall and closing his eyes.

Everything will work out in the end or perhaps he’ll end up wherever Dave is. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.

 

###

 

It gets dark surprisingly quickly. The lack of disorienting lights surprises Klaus when he staggers out of the alleyway, but then cars pass by and their headlights are quick to stun him instead. He blinks, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the visual onslaught after spending so long in the same dark alleyway.

He’s running out of the good drugs, now. Only one colourful pill left, no coke, and the rest of the white pills that aren’t as good; his hands shake in anxiety whenever he thinks about his dwindling stash.

He has one vague place in mind. He stumbles down the street, eyes dragging up and down the buildings either side of him; closed shops, closed shops, closed shops, takeaway signs.

Then a colourful, neon sign, and he grins in victory.

Before he heads inside, he finds his last pill, spends a moment looking at it, then swallows it.

The club is loud. The music seems to pound in his own skull and echo in the shell of his ears, and the lights leave him reeling, never quite sure of where he actually is; he ghosts by the bar, stumbles by the bathroom door, staggers onto the dance floor. When he blinks he is somewhere different than he was a second ago and he just goes with it.

The club is warm, blissfully so, and the music is good, he thinks – he can’t really distinguish it further than some loud, consistent sound that never stops, that floods all of his senses. He makes small talk with random people; someone buys him a drink at the bar and he dances with them with a grateful smile, because his throat was dry because he’s not drank anything in a while and despite the fact that it’s still an alcoholic drink it was a drink no less.

He almost trips over someone in the bathroom. A part of him expects it to be the man from the club yesterday, but then he spends a minute staring at his reflection and realises a full day has passed since that club. Time seems to be ever-changing, jumping around him, never quite in his grasp, and he can’t quite make a steady timeline of events from the past few days. Not that it really matters.

He rolls the sleeves of his hoodie up, because the heat is almost oppressive, suffocating his flesh, and then he lifts his arms above his head and finds himself dancing to the music, in time with the crowd around him. The music is great and it reverberates in his bones, in his entire skeleton, as if the band is residing in the marrow of his bones.

He drapes himself over the bar, breathing heavily and trying to retain some sense of reality as his high peaks, leaving him useless with his eyes rolling and teeth chattering, limbs clammy and trembling. When he returns to himself, he’s on the floor in the bathroom, with one drunk man murmuring incoherent stories, also on the floor, and one man stepping over the both of them with one hand steadying himself against the wall as he tries to reach the urinals. Klaus just moans and curls in on himself, curling his hands into his hoodie and losing himself again. When he opens his eyes, the drunk man on the floor is gone and there’s someone slumped in one of the toilet stalls. He finds his feet beneath him and stumbles out.

In the corner of the club, he leans close to one man with pupils that devour his irises, just like Klaus’, and the man tells him he doesn’t know a dealer but he does have some stuff elsewhere, maybe motivated by the way Klaus laughs when he says something funny and how Klaus leans close and breathes in the same stale air as he does, or the way Klaus’ body leans into his hand that settles on his hip like an open invitation.

He follows the man out of the club with a thrill in his bones _(more, he’s getting more, more, more, everything will be fine)_ and he’ll figure out the bullshit lie he’ll tell him about money when they get to that part. For now, they just race down the street like a bullet, a blur like the cars from earlier, and they trip up uneven stairs to some apartment on some secluded street.

A lamp turns on in one passing room, just enough light to make out what the shadows in the apartment are before he falls over them. The man catches him with fingers curling into the belt hoops surrounding his hips. Klaus falls forwards against him, hands landing on his shoulders to steady himself, and then the world spins and he’s vaguely aware of something hard behind his shoulders and lips on his jaw, of a hand in his hair, and his skin feels like electricity that pulses beneath each touch and has him arching into it for more, more, more.

The jumper that Allison bought him falls to the floor – and it’s a good thing, too, he never noticed how hot it was, that his skin feels like it’s hardly containing his boiling blood beneath it.

“Where – where’s the stuff?” Klaus breathes, head falling backwards to bare his throat, and the man leans forwards eagerly.

“After,” says the man, and Klaus wants to ask after what, but then his knees hit a mattress and he topples down onto it with a breathy laugh. Fingers hook into his waistband and peels his leather pants down, past his ankles and throwing them aside, accompanied soon by the other man’s clothes, and Klaus has a moment of panic. Fingers card through his hair in a way that almost hypnotises him and sends his eyes rolling.

When he’s able to see again, he sees a dark ceiling swirling above him and the man bears down over Klaus, pushing him down into the mattress, and his own legs are hooked around his hips. His head falls back, tipping away from the man.

It feels as if every second is dragged out into an hour, and he sobers up with each passing moment, becoming painfully aware of where he is and what’s happening and the ache in his muscles and the coldness seeping into his bones.

The man bites his neck, as if sensing each time Klaus almost drifts away, insistent on anchoring Klaus to this moment that he doesn’t want to be in anymore.

His wrists are held in place together above his head with a belt that Klaus doesn’t remember ever seeing before, but it doesn’t give when he tries to slip his thin wrists free from it. So he gives up and lays there, tries not to look at or listen to the man above him, and god, how was he fucked enough to the point he’d fall back to this?

Dog tags are trapped beneath his shoulder, the chain almost choking him, and when he blinks the motion dislodges a tear and sends it sliding down his cheek.

He supposes he should have seen this coming. It is like a survival instinct ingrained into him at this point, or perhaps he is simply like _that,_ selfish and disgusting enough to do anything to run from his problems. He really shouldn’t be surprised; and he wouldn’t be, had his high not been wearing off in such an agonising way.

His guts turn and the cramp is almost welcome. He had almost forgotten that there was anything beneath his skin besides bones and cobwebs and coldness. The void unfurls, spreading out along his arms and his legs, flooding to his fingertips and his toes, and he almost wishes it would swallow him whole.

The man on top of him seems to fall, like a puppet cut free from its strings, and Klaus fears he’s going to be stuck there like this for hours. He tries to nudge him, murmuring in a hoarse voice; “hey, untie me first.” And, sluggishly, the man lifts himself up, reaching out enough to tug the belt loose enough for Klaus’ arms to fall free like a dead weight.

As soon as he’s free, he sits upright, placing his back between him and the man and rubbing the red lines around his wrist, then he scrubs his hands down his face and stares at the wall opposite himself. There's a picture of a lighthouse hanging up. 

The man, voice muffled and Klaus assumes he’s face down in his pillow, asks; “was I good?”

“Yeah,” Klaus croaks, staring at his feet on the wooden floor. “It was good.” But the man doesn’t reply, asleep already, and Klaus heaves himself up onto his feet and fumbles for his clothes. Despite his urgency, the desire to get out as quickly as physically possible, he lingers, looking around his room.

In a bedside drawer he finds what he had been promised and he takes it, along with the loose cash in the man’s wallet, movements robotic, and then he drags himself outside and onto the cold street.

Ben is waiting for him there. He looks at Klaus with a sympathetic, sad expression, but he doesn’t say anything. Just follows him as he steps into the nearest alleyway. His back hits the ground and he sinks down until he’s sitting, and then he ducks his head down.

His shoulders shake and try as he might, he can’t hold back the sobs that begin to spill from his lips like coughed up blood, and the bag of powder in the palm of his shaking fist weighs down like an anchor. His other hand reaches for his chest and finds metal hanging there, and his hand curls around it almost hesitantly.

How cruel the world is, he thinks, to have put him in this situation, and how terrible he is to have thrown himself into it like a lover with open arms.

He hopes that, wherever Dave is, he can’t see him. He hopes that he’s forgotten all about him.

With his stolen money, Klaus wanders alley to alley until he meets a man in one, and he trades it for a sickly red liquid and a probably unused syringe. Ben had said that he hadn’t slept lately and, sure enough, things always work themselves out, because he’s out like a light before he can even take the needle out of his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	8. Adding Shadows to the Walls of the Cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titles are taken from 'Sedated' by Hozier.

His eyes peel open heavily. His eyelids flutter for a few moments, as if he isn’t actually quite sure of how to open them, and even then it takes a moment for his eyes to settle in his skull. The first thing he notices is the way his hoodie feels on his skin and how warm he is, how soft the fabric is. He wishes it would engulf him whole. One of his arms aren’t in his sleeve and he acts quickly to fix this mistake, only for his fingers to find a needle still caught there haphazardly from lilac-bruised skin. He tugs it out and discards it, sends it skidding across the floor and landing by Ben’s knees.

“Are you with me?” Ben asks, eying him. Klaus’ head bobs in a lazy nod. It’s dark in the alleyway but bright outside, he can tell, and he’s a little confused – he was sure it was dark. “How are you?” Ben asks. “Can you breathe alright? Can you move alright?”

He doesn’t really know the answers to those two questions, but he _is_ breathing and he _can_ move, so he nods his head. Then his head keeps going; drooping down as he nods off for a few seconds before picking his head back up, only for the process to repeat itself over and over and over again. Things bleed into nothingness, into a fuzzy, warm haze, then into nothingness, then once more into a fuzzy, warm haze. It’s a different kind of bliss from the powder or the pills that make everything bright and vibrant and electric, a distraction, while this is something soft and comforting and warm, nearly loving.

At some point, though, he finds it in himself to lift his head and keep it there for a while, then he finds the strength in himself to open his eyes again. Ben is still there, like always; it’s almost heart-warming. He raises an eyebrow at Klaus, ducking slightly to try and decipher whether or not Klaus is about to double over and pass out again. When he doesn’t do so immediately, Ben’s shoulders slump slightly.

“Are you okay?”

His lips and tongue dances around the words tentatively, as if not entirely sure that what’s going on in his mind is the same as what is about to fall from his lips. “I’m…” He trails off, distracted by the feeling of words in his mouth, heavy on his tongue.

“You’re?” Ben says, snapping his attention back to him. Klaus smiles.

“Good. I’m good.” He nods his head to back up the statement, then he slumps to the side to lean against a wall, boneless. He has to run his fingers over the back of his hand, down his wrist, to ensure that beneath his skin there are actually still bones residing there.

“You sure?” Ben asks, coming closer and scrutinising him in the poor light that reaches him. Klaus nods. “You stopped breathing at points for a little while.”

Klaus waves one hand up and down himself. “I’m obviously fine,” he murmurs, dropping his hand. Ben snorts.

“You’re lucky, is what you are,” he corrects. Klaus shrugs dismissively.

“You said I needed to sleep.”

Ben gives him a look, unimpressed and cold for a moment. “You know this isn’t what I meant.”

“Mmm… I know,” he sighs. He brings one hand up to clumsily rub his eyes. “Anyone come here?” He asks. Ben shakes his head.

“No, you were fine. No one came down and saw you.”

Klaus lets out a pleased hum. “Good,” he mutters.

“Do you think you could stand?” He asks. Klaus presses his lips together, turning his consciousness inwards to try and asses how he really feels. Can he stand?

“Mmm… no. Probably not,” he says, then lets out a little laugh. Nonetheless, he tries to do so anyway; his hands scrabble for purchase against the brick wall beside him and then he pushes himself upright. As he straightens out, his vision blacks out and he falls flat on the ground gracelessly. Ben grimaces, jumping out of the way as if Klaus might fall against him and drag him down, too.

A few moments pass before Klaus’ eyes flutter open once more and he lifts his head. He looks around in a bit of a daze, eyebrows knitting together.

“You passed out,” says Ben.

“Ah,” says Klaus, slumping back down. “Makes sense.” His face screws up. “My arm hurts.”

“You left the needle in,” Ben says. Klaus’ eyes narrow.

“Oh. Whoops.” He lets out a detached laugh, shaking hands fumbling to push him onto his knees. “Fuck, I’m fucking hungry, Ben,” he moans, one hand sliding down his face.

“You have money,” Ben tells him. Klaus’ face lights up.

“I do?” He digs into his pants and, sure enough, his hands come back with a new baggie and cash. Klaus lets out a laugh of relief, bringing both up to press a kiss against them. He hides the powder in his pants once more and holds the money up instead, making an attempt to read it but the numbers don’t make any sense.

“You could – should – get a motel room,” Ben says, watching him attempt to scramble back onto his feet, though at a slower pace right now. “Get inside, clean up, sleep in a bed.”

Klaus presses his lips together. He manages to get onto his feet, leaning heavily on the wall. “Takeaway? What time is it? McDonalds? I could… could…” He trails off, sucking in a breath and staring at the exit of the alleyway.

“Klaus?” Ben ducks down, trying to catch his gaze. He watches Klaus’ jaw move silently, as if hanging loose and swaying. “Klaus?”

He sighs, eyelids fluttering, his body pitching to one side against the wall and Ben thinks he might collapse again, but then he opens his eyes and hauls himself upright.

“You good?”

Klaus nods. “Mhmm. You know how it is,” he says, waving a hand and offering a lopsided grin. Ben raises an eyebrow slightly, evidently _not_ knowing how it is, but Klaus shrugs him off. When his mind settles into his body again, he focuses on standing upright and stumbling out of the alleyway and onto the streets.

It must be later in the afternoon, he thinks. It’s still bright and shops are still open, streets still busy, but it’s getting darker.

People give him odd looks as he stumbles out of the alleyway, looking him up and down and quickly walking away to give him a wide berth. Which is fine; it saves him from accidentally bumping into them, so it’s fine.

Motel or food? He can’t quite remember what he was prioritising. His stomach cramps, making his decision for him, and so he ducks into the nearest corner store. He strolls the aisles, tries to ignore the way the lights buzz and flicker and drill into his skull, and he picks up an armful of whatever food catches his interest. He leaves the place with a plastic bag full of snacks and juice, much to his glee, accompanied by a packet of cigarettes and a lighter and a cheap bottle of whiskey, and then he looks to the remainder of his money.

A motel would be nice, he thinks, but he needs to keep enough for when he runs out of his current stash of drugs. So he splits his money into two; the majority goes to one pile, the perfect amount to get him more, and then the rest goes to whatever he wants. He holds the smaller amount up.

“Is this enough for a motel?” He asks, looking at Ben. His brother leans forwards, eyes narrowed as he counts the money.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding relieved. “Yeah, it’s enough. I know where one is, follow me.”

Klaus obediently does so. He weaves between people as Ben leads him down the street, eager at the prospect of a bath, a smoke, some chocolate and then the ability to pass out on a bed rather than a floor.

He pays for the motel room and the first thing he does when he gets there is immediately heads towards the bathroom. He dumps his bag on the floor by the bath, in reach of it, and he runs the hot water and then drops his hoodie onto the floor, followed then by his shoes and his pants. His eyes fall onto the two baggies that fall from his pants and he presses his lips together, but the high still clinging to him is soft and warm and he doesn’t want to break it just yet. So he steps into the bath, lights up a cigarette, and then reaches for a bar of chocolate from his bag of goodies.

Ben sits on the floor by the door at the opposite end of the room.

“You should probably check in with the others tomorrow, or tonight, really,” he says. Klaus waves him off.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” he says, words slightly mumbled around the cigarette perched between his lips.

“ _They_ are,” Ben agrees. “But they’re probably worried about you.”

Klaus narrows his eyes at him as if the idea is laughable. “I doubt that,” he says. Ben gives him a disapproving look.

“Five didn’t want you to leave, and for good reason,” he says. Klaus scoffs.

“If you’re going to be negative, kindly fuck off.”

“We need to talk, Klaus-“

“While I’m ass-naked in a bathtub? Can you not wait an hour?”

“You’ll probably be getting high in an hour again,” Ben says. Klaus rolls his eyes.

“Now I will,” he mutters spitefully. He takes his cigarette from his lips to bite into his chocolate, then he tips his head back and rests on the back of the tub. “Look, they’re all – all going about their lives, I’m going about my life, kapeesh? You don’t have to stay here.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t die,” Ben states. Klaus rolls his eyes once more.

“Boohoo,” he grumbles, takes another drag of his cigarette. “Shut up about it, then.”

“ _Klaus_.”

“I’m one more rude comment away from snorting that entire bag, Ben,” Klaus threatens in a light tone. Ben glares at him, head tipped to the side in that ever disapproving way of his, but he does shut up so Klaus counts it as a win. He goes through that cigarette, chucking the butt into the small trashcan hiding beneath the sink, and he finishes that chocolate bar as well and downs half of one of the bottles of juice he bought.

He lets his body sink slowly into the water, inch by inch, letting it creep slowly up his body until it tickles his chin, then over his lips. He is faintly aware of the way his head thumps against the bottom of the bathtub as if it’s happening to someone else and he’s merely spectating it from far away.

Music filters into his ears, faint and muffled, and he blinks his eyes open to see a starry sky. He smells weed and looks down to find a joint dangling from his fingers, smoke tumbling from his lips, and the air is warm and humid on his skin even despite the night sky around him.

He hears a door swing open and swing shut, footsteps crunch behind him and he turns to face the person.

“I’ve been trying to find you, you know,” says Dave with a sad smile twisting his lips. Klaus’ heart jumps into his throat.

“Dave?”

Dave takes a few steps aside to settle down on a short wall, stretching his legs out and tipping his head back, face turned up towards the stars that seem to reflect like an entire ocean in his eyes. Klaus hovers in his spot, frozen in fear, and watches the way Dave’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows.

“Because I could see you – you were retreating with everyone else, and I was so confused. Everyone was leaving me. No one looked at me-“

“Dave-“

“And I didn’t know what was going on, so I followed you and tried to get your attention – to be fair, the gunshots were really loud, you all were in a bit of a rush. And you went straight for your briefcase, which was odd, and then you just – disappeared.”

“Dave,” keens Klaus, stumbling forwards, “I know, I know, just – I-“

Dave’s eyes flick only briefly towards him before returning to the sky. “And then I realised I was dead. And I stuck around for a while, trying to figure everything out, but you never came back and everyone thought you had gotten killed while retreating, too, and you were always going off and doing dumb shit,” his lips curl upwards into a fond smile, then, “and I figured that I really ought to find you, try and make sure you were actually okay. I think I was getting close, but then it was like… something just blocked the path I was on, I guess, and I was lost and couldn’t get any closer; it was like I could hear you on the other side, but could never get around or over it.”

The joint falls from his fingers, clatters to the ground and morphs into his rifle, slipping from his grasp, and he’s pressing himself into the dirt as a bullet whizzes overhead. He startles, body going tense and trembling minutely. “Dave?” He calls, lifting his head, but Dave is right there beside him, slumped, and Klaus knows this moment too well. Dave doesn’t respond and when Klaus turns him over he falls, limp like a ragdoll, and blood swells up over the ugly wound in his chest, bubbles over his lips as if he’s overflowing with it, and nothing Klaus can do will stop it, will help it, will ease the pain looming like shadows in his eyes that seem to only get further and further away.

His lungs burn and Klaus snaps upright, breaking the surface of the water and returning to the bathtub in the motel. He gulps down air greedily, chest burning and hands shaking, black spots dancing in his vision. Water sloshes over the rim of the porcelain, splattering onto the tiles, and Klaus’ hands grip the rim of the tub as he tries to steady himself. His eyes fall downwards and catch sight of wet metal and he moans, distressed, and his head falls back.

He feels like he’s been running from everything and he’s so suddenly tired in that moment as everything catches up to him. He scrubs his hands down his face and bites back a sob, digs his nails into his skin until it stings, and then he looks around.

Ben catches his eyes, almost pleading with him, and Klaus ignores him. Ben has the choice to stay or to go and watch over their other siblings, and it isn’t Klaus’ fault that he decides to stick around and watch Klaus fuck his life up. He can leave if he’s sick of seeing it.

He leans over the bathtub, long arm stretching out and grabbing the bottle of alcohol he bought. He pops the lid off, focuses on how it burns his throat, and he drinks as if he’s dying of thirst.

But alcohol always takes its time to hit him unlike the drugs, and he needs to be gone _now_. He wants what he had earlier but he doesn’t have any of that _(he thinks he might have just enough money for one more hit, though, if he can find the dealer, but he’ll have to check later because his sight is too blurred to read the numbers on the cash)_ so he reaches for the pills; the ones he had taken at Vanya’s during the day, the one that distances himself from reality.

“Klaus,” Ben says, sitting upright at the sight, “don’t be an idiot, don’t do that, Klaus-“

Too late, Ben, he thinks with gleeful spite, swallowing a few down and washing it down.

Ben stares at him with eyebrows raised and lips parted, as if he hasn’t seen Klaus do worse things than mix a few pills and alcohol. “Klaus,” he says, slowly, as if Klaus is really that stupid that he needs to be spoken to like a child. “You need to get your clothes on, and you need to call – someone – you _know_ that shit is dangerous. An ambulance, or – Diego, or Five, someone-“

“Shut up,” Klaus grumbles. He does stand up, but everything goes a little static when he does so and he has to brace himself against the wall and blink, but the feeling doesn’t leave. He grabs a towel, half-heartedly dries himself off, and steps back into his underwear as the world begins to sway with each passing second. He’s done this before – he’s done worse before – and always lived, so he’ll be fine.

He almost (does) fall through Ben, standing in the doorway as if he can block Klaus in there until he promises to go phone for the help that he really doesn’t need.

He only makes it onto the bed through sheer determination not to waste his money on a motel only to sleep on a floor like he has been – or, at least residing on a floor, since he only slept earlier. He falls beside it, trips up at the bottom of it, collapses onto it and hits his head off the headboard, moving as if he’s only guiding his limbs rather than actually using them.

But it’s fine; had he not done both, he’d probably still be moping in the bathtub, waiting to feel the alcohol take effect. Now, he’s blissfully lost to the spinning room he’s in, the way water drips down his neck from his hair and feels like a flood and has him gasping for air against. His stomach churns in his stomach and he wonders if this is what Ben feels like with the Horrors inside of him.

His stomach lurches violently and he falls off the bed in an attempt to stand up. He’s so tired but there’s some kind of urgency in him, distant and muted as it is, but he knows that he really doesn’t want to throw up in the bed.

He manages to make it to the trashcan miraculously, since it’s nearby, just in time to throw up and then slump to the side.

He can’t find it in himself to get up again, but it’s fine. The floor is more comfortable than he would have expected it to be.

Fingers wave in front of his eyes and he decides to close them.


End file.
